With a simile and a song
by Pranksta
Summary: In which inorganic materials, tunes, choreographies, tubes and unrequited love come together to prove that John never sees it coming, Ronon will eventually lose face, Rodney is a tremendous genius and Teyla will always remain her beautiful poised self.
1. Chapter 1

Thanks go to Angela and Rox for the beta. You are lovely and insane, a most wonderful combination. Also, you guys ROCK!

**Notes:** I present the second instalment in what I pompously titled the _Quirks and Quacks of_ _Pegasus_ series. The first fic of this series was _Between a Rock and a Headcase._ You don't have to read it to understand this one; the only thing the two fics have in common is the silliness of their respective premise.

Silly, silly things will happen, with little logic to support them; be warned.

**Genre:** Gen  
**Characters:** Team  
**Word Count:** Will probably end up somewhere around 20 000 words. This is a nearly-completed WIP, two or three chapters left to finalize.  
**Rating:** Low, a few naughty words.  
**Warnings**: Crack! Stupidity and utterly insane plot points abound.

**Chapter the First – Who do you think you are?**

Rodney McKay walked quickly down the corridor, his eyes fixed to his trusty laptop sidekick. He was going to be late-late-late as he was already late-late, and Elizabeth would be wearing her patient 'I accept your idiosyncrasies, but can you _please_ try to be on time for once in your life' look. He picked up the pace, nearing a jog which was an amazing achievement this early in the day, hoping he wouldn't be so late that they'd start without him. That really irked his self-important delusions.

That's when he bumped, literally, into Colonel Sheppard and his day was shot to hell.

"Watch it!"

There was a weird pause before Sheppard took the outstretched hand and helped him to his feet. Rodney ended the pause. "What're you doing? We have a meeting, shouldn't you be there already? Were you coming to get me? I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable of making my way to the briefing room, in fact, I was going there and would you keep up, I don't want to be late."

Sheppard stood still, watching Rodney make hurrying motion with his hand. He seemed to realise he was expected to speak, as this was a conversation and worked much better with two participants. A confused look spread across Sheppard's face. "Doctor McKay. What's above?" He twitched, his eyes widened and he hung his head.

Rodney missed his antics as he was busy looking above his head for some death-inducing atrocity, or large practical joke prop. When it became apparent that his precious life was in no way threatened, he frowned at Sheppard who was still staring at the floor like a penitent boy. "Ha. Ha. Very funny, can we lose the childish pranks, grow up and get to the meeting? Not in that order; no one has the time to wait for you to become a mature member of the adult world."

Sheppard looked at him with glassy eyes and nodded, but Rodney was already on the move. It took a few jogged steps before he reached the scientist. "Is everything…completely left?"

"What are you talking about? Who's left? Are the trained monkeys complaining again? I don't see why they think I'll listen to your pitiful attempts at reining me in. First, I am not in need of behavioural changes, and second, they deserve it, every last one of them, incompetent." By the time McKay finished his rant they had made it to the briefing room and were entering under the impatient gaze of Doctor Weir and Teyla. The bored gaze from Ronon was less impressive.

"I see John has joined your tardy club, Rodney."

"Don't blame me for this! He threw me on the ground!"

"Excuse me!?"

"He walked right into me! Military types shouldn't be allowed to walk around if they can't handle it!"

Sheppard lowered himself gingerly in his seat, an action which did not fail to grab Elizabeth's attention. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, thank you, Doctor Weir. I'm very well."

Rodney stared in disbelief. "You're very well? Very well? What are you saying!?"

"I am all left."

"All left!" Rodney turned to the rest of the meeting's attendee. "Do you hear him? He's sick!"

"Maybe you should see Carson."

"No, there's no need for the medicine. I am…o…kay…" John slouched slightly in his seat before straightening up. His spine seemed to be at a loss as to what it wanted to do: curve or straighten.

Elizabeth eyed him critically before nodding. "Right," she hesitantly said, watching her Military Commander jerk in his seat, slouching one second, straightening the next.

Rodney doubtfully eyed the colonel before turning to Elizabeth. "Look at him! He's not right!"

Elizabeth frowned thoughtfully. "John? Are you sure you're feeling ok?"

When all John did was smile wider and nod, she raised her hand to her radio, watching him. "Carson?"

They waited for Carson's reply in expectant silence. Teyla and Ronon eyed John curiously while Rodney poked him with a stylus he had stolen from Miko. He poked more forcibly each time, but Sheppard simply stared at him, smiling pleasantly

"Beckett."

"Ah, Carson. Colonel Sheppard will drop by for a visit, are you free?"

"Not exactly, but Doctor LaRio has just come on duty. Is this of a, hmm, personal nature?"

"I don't quite –"

"For God's sake! Carson! I'm bringing him in; you do your job and check him out! What good are you if you won't see your own patients?!" Rodney bitched over the comm. system.

Carson rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently, putting away his research material. "Bring him in, I'll be here," he said, knowing that McKay would not let this go, and preferring to treat the colonel himself. "What seems to be the problem?"

Rodney was already standing, grabbing John's arm and pulling him out of his chair. "Ronon, you follow. I don't want to be attacked by a pod clone freak John Sheppard."

Ronon raised an eyebrow as Teyla rose from her seat. She moved to Sheppard's side and took hold of his arm. He turned to her, smiling benignly. She felt the cold of fear seep into her. Sheppard never smiled like that. He was always a predator, smiling charmingly, flirtingly, engagingly. Never like this, empty, innocent. This Sheppard was all wrong. He was too…tame. She motioned for Ronon to follow as Elizabeth communicated to Carson the very limited details of the situation.

"Whoever you are, don't do anything, I don't want to sic the Giant on you," Rodney said, menacingly, his grip tightening on Sheppard's arm as they crossed the control room. "He can have a knife to your throat like that," he assured Sheppard, letting go to snap his fingers. He then retook hold of Sheppard's arm, glaring at the man as if John had freed himself from the grasp.

The staff in the gate room looked at them curiously, but three frowning members of the first-contact team were enough to quell their gossip-thirsty ways.

Sheppard continued smiling at everyone and everything, even Rodney, the never-ending-tirade-producing machine.

They reached the infirmary and shoved Sheppard on a bed. Carson appeared a moment later. "What seems to be the problem, Colonel?"

Sheppard smiled before his eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak.

Too late. "The problem, Carson, is that Sheppard has gone insane! Look at him, he looks stupider than usual!"

"Rodney," Teyla said reprovingly.

"What! He does!" Rodney turned toward Sheppard, his arms crossed over his chest. "Close your mouth, you incompetent gorilla!"

Sheppard complied, slouching and straightening as if continuing the earlier argument with his spine.

"See! See! That's just not right!"

Carson frowned. "I'll have to agree with that. Colonel? Can you tell me what you did this morning?" he asked, busying himself with blood-pressure cuffs and thermometer.

"Yes, I can," Sheppard answered, smiling without a hint of teasing.

Carson waited for him to go on. When he didn't, the doctor questioned him further. "Please, tell me now what you did this morning."

"I woke with the sun in my eyes in my one-fourth. I released –"

"Your one-fourth! What's a one-fourth!?"

Once more, Sheppard twitched, his eyes widened and he hung his head. "My quarters. I woke, in my quarters. I released and contracted my muscles to elongate them. I allowed my body to express satisfaction through my voice. I stood barefoot on the cold floor. I walked to the…the…water. The water room. The…washroom. I walked to the washroom and removed the black, clinging, short fabric that covered a small part of my body. I stepped into the rain enclosure and felt its warmth on my back. I felt a stirring from below and took my hardened appendage in hand. I –"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Gross! That's just – Carson! He's sick! He's insane! He's stupid and…telling us private things!" Rodney looked scandalised.

Sheppard smiled at Rodney, a real, warm and friendly smile. Rodney thought it was the most disturbing thing he had witnessed in the Pegasus Galaxy.

"Perhaps it's best if you step out while I examine him."

"Yeah, right, yeah." McKay looked at Sheppard, shivered and left.

"Carson? What is wrong with John?"

"I don't know, Teyla, but I'll let you know as soon as I find out."

Ronon said, "TMI," smiled, and followed Teyla out of the infirmary.

Carson shook his head. Soon, Ronon would be able to pass as a surfer dude. The doctor turned to Sheppard. "Well, I don't think you need to be so detailed in the day's events, Colonel. An overall view would be enough."

"View. A view? O. Kay." Sheppard rose to his feet and turned to exit the infirmary.

Carson quickly grabbed his left arm to stop his progress. "Where do you think you're going?"

A puzzled Sheppard turned back toward Carson. "I am giving you a view. My…quarters are this way."

"No, no. I meant…" Carson sighed before schooling his features in a tight smile. "Sit here and we'll do your bloodwork."

Eyes wide, Sheppard did as he had been asked. Fear was plain to see on his face, but Beckett turned away and missed it.

After a battery of test, Beckett was rather perplexed. He sat in the briefing room, trying to put words to his discovery. Rodney nudged him, to further his efforts.

"Carson! Do I look like someone who has all day, free to look at you fidget! What's wrong with him?" The scientist's face fell into a guilty expression. "He's not a bug again, is he?" he asked, suddenly more concerned for the well-being of his friend than his timetable.

Carson sighed. "Not exactly."

Elizabeth leaned forward, concern evident on her face. "Carson?"

"He…he's…a robot."

A stunned silence followed that statement. Teyla was the first to recover. "I am sorry. I may be misunderstanding. Is this an idiom? Colonel Sheppard cannot be a robot."

"I'm afraid he is. He has, in the last twenty-four hours, acquired robot bits," Carson said, shamefully unable to provide an explanation.

"Robot bits? Robot bits!" Rodney exclaimed, formulating a magnificent rant on the value of a large and varied vocabulary.

"Wires and chips and whatnots," Carson said, preventing the diatribe he could see building behind Rodney's eyes. "I'm not a bloody engineer, Rodney!"

Snap, snap went the fingers before reaching up for the earpiece. "Right, engineer." There was a pause before Rodney barked, "Zelenka!" into his radio.

Followed a short, clipped and urgent conversation between the two geniuses, but finally, Rodney returned to the meeting. "Radek's on it. He'll be waiting for you in the infirmary."

"Great, then I should go back to –"

"Carson?"

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

"If John's a robot…what happened to…" She paused, searching for the right term to qualify Sheppard, their Sheppard, the one that had non-robotic bits.

"The organic Sheppard," McKay supplied. "Where is he?"

Carson shook his head disconsolately. "I really don't know."

* * *

TBC - big surprise, eh? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter the Second: Somewhere over the Settlement**

_Giggles. Those are giggles. _

_Female gigg – woah! Hand. Hands!_

John forced his way through the hazy, feel-good front room of his mind.

_Hands, but no pain. Oooh, nope, not pain._

Lifting his heavy lids, John blinked stupidly for a beat or two before what he was seeing registered.

_Guh_.

His brain took a second to enjoy the view before it relinquished control to the higher functions. Sitting up, Sheppard batted away the many hands that where treating his body as a playground. "Hey, ah, what's this?"

The owners of those many hands vanished quickly, leaving him with a cloud of spicy perfume and sugary giggles.

He rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead, attempting to soothe the oncoming headache, and took in the room.

_Lush_ was the first word that came to mind.

_Comfortable, luxurious_.

_Harem-like_.

John refused to allow that thought to linger.

He moved to sit on the side of the bed, sliding against cool, smooth sheets. Satin or something remarkably similar. It felt unusually new against his skin. For years, he'd only encountered starchy cotton, prickly polyester, and this was…this felt, so good. He sat, his feet on the cool stony floor, running his hand over the deep green sheet that stretched below him. Like water.

John was thirsty. He sighed. As much as this room invited his mind to consider luxury and sloth, he knew it was not for him. His was a hard life, with sharp edges and rash-inducing detergent used on his bed sheets and clothes. Clothes that he would like to see, right now.

Getting up, John smoothed his hand against the soft fabric of his…well…

_Harem pants._

He cleared his throat, uncomfortably warm suddenly as the image that had been the first to greet his opening eyes returned in full Technicolor.

_Harem. Harem pants. Girls. Harem girls in very little clothing. Harem girls who might've drugged and abused you for hours._

Unease settled in, heavy for a moment, but receding once John concluded he hadn't been abused because he didn't feel hurt. Finding his clothes seemingly washed, neatly folded and sitting on a chair contributed to easing his mind.

He dressed, surveying the room. A massive bed took up most of the floor space. It was overburdened with cloth and pillows, hidden beneath the soft, watery green and blues that made up the room's scheme. The headboard was tall and wide, of dark, solid wood. The walls were of a rich brown and covered by various paintings in silver frames and lengths of fabrics dropping from the ceiling to the floor. Two deep, plush chairs formed a sitting area in one corner. A large, ornate mirror sat atop a wide table that held a jug, washbasin and several items that John assumed intended for washing beside a tall wardrobe. The wood of the furniture had been worked to form intricate designs that, no matter the angle at which John held his head, looked like J's and S's of varying sizes. He frowned, called himself an idiot, and moved on.

Sunlight streamed through a wall-sized window when John pulled back the curtain. His breath momentarily caught as he took in the view. Far below, a settlement spread in colourful ribbons of blues, greens, silvers and browns. Tents of circus proportions formed a calligraphic J, with flourishes stretching further than John could see, even when pressing his face against the glass. He reiterated himself an idiot and tried to bypass his sudden egomaniac tendencies. The thought that his initials were all over this planet, and that he was here alone, did gnaw at him from the back of his mind, but he continued with his exploration accustomed as he was to moving right along when faced with weirdness.

He turned away from the view and searched for his weapons. Predictably, he found none, nor anything that could be used as one. He opened the wardrobe doors and examined the multitude of vials, pots and folded fabric that were held within, to no avail. It smelt very nice and he inhaled deeply before closing the door.

Dressed but weapon-less he made his way to the wooden double doors that separated him from the outside world. Reaching out to lay a hand upon the handle, he was too slow to avoid the hit. Opening, the door swung in his face and John Sheppard was once again gone to the world.

He didn't hear the distraught scream, the clatter of a meal tray finding its way to the floor, the remonstrance that quickly followed. He didn't feel the gentle touches to his face, his torso, his legs all at once, the force that deposited him on the bed, the soft flutters of warmth that caressed his skin as he was once more denuded and dressed in soft, smooth and cool trousers.

The sound of his name, whispered reverently against his skin was not one he was privy to. All the progress he had made in getting up and dressed was nullified, as if he had jumped back in time.

Guardians, seven in number, shielded John against all that would dare disturb him until he returned to the world and their proximity was no longer desired. They hovered and buzzed, charmed by the generosity of his lips, the arch of his nose, the utter perfection of his hair and the smoothness of his skin. Honoured were they to be allowed the presence of such a fine example of flesh-bearing perfection.

This perfection returned to the world of the cognizant quickly, to their relief and regret. The minute he gave signs of waking, they left in a flurry, leaving a confused John Sheppard to sniff the air and reflect on the familiarity of the spices floating above him. As if a company of pretty girls had just left in a hurry.

Groaning, Sheppard let his head fall back to the pillow. Back in bed, back in his funky pants, with an annoying voice and an ache taking over his head.

_Get up, get dressed, do not wake up back in bed, doubting your sanity. You're sane, it's fine, you didn't imagine getting up. Get your clothes and get out. _

John rubbed a hand over his forehead and resumed his trip in the past. Cold floor, check. Smooth, shiny pants, check. Uniform on the chair, check. Big window with settlement down below, check. Initials all over the place, check.

He bypassed the inspection, simply went straight for the door and stepped out into a room filled with tiny floating lights. As he moved, what he saw came into sharper focus.

_No, a beam of sunlight in your eyes and a room filled with pretty, pretty girls. _

John swallowed loudly as numerous pairs of eyes locked unto him. That is before, of course, all the women that occupied the room disappeared in a flurry of sugary giggles and spicy perfumes. John noted the organised way in which they departed, almost as a troupe of dancers, beautiful and agile.

John sighed and let his head hang down, not bothering to call for them to wait, come back, tell me what the hell is going on! Instead, he lifted his head and took in the room.

_Roman baths. _

This was a bad, bad, bad situation. Alone, unfamiliar world, people kept running away from him.

Walking around the pool-sized bath, John could appreciate the blue and green mosaic on the opposite walls, the large windows overlooking the settlement he'd spied from the bedroom, and two large metal doors, gleaming silver in the sunlight that streamed in from the sunroof.

John went to the doors and pulled. He stood, handles in hands, on the threshold to the next room as dozens of people ran in graceful unison, leaving him, again, with giggles and spices.

"WAIT!" John shouted, resolving to catch someone this time. He ran after the crowd who spilled out through the doors on the opposite side of John's entry point. He crossed the room, pulled on the doors and was met by an empty room. This one seemed to be some sort of oversized linen closet. It was filled with towels, bed sheets, blankets, pillowcases, bathrobes, pillows and many other things one would find in a linen closet. John walked beside a shelving unit of deep dark wood and let a hand trail over the silk sheets that lay upon it.

It produced a pleasant feeling and he enjoyed the cool smoothness under his fingers. He crossed the room, opened yet another set of metallic double-doors. And another. And another.

All the rooms he entered were blue and green lavish settings. Brown wood, cool silk dressings. Rich in adornments, not very lived in but comfortable and welcoming nonetheless.

John walked from room to room shooting a look out of the window as often as one was encountered. Sometimes he saw the settlement, at others a rocky parapet, or a forest.

He found stairs and went down. Down. Down. Down. Down. After what seemed like ten thousand steps, he was on a level, encountering three sets of double-doors. One to the left, one in front and one to the right.

John was certain this should have been a big deciding moment and that, was his life a television series, he would step boldly into the room behind the doors straight ahead and continue his adventure.

John's life, however, was not fiction, but true, tangible pain in the ass, so he peeked stealthily inside each room before opting for the left. It was remarkably similar to all the others, blue, green, deep brown woods, except that it had someone inside, someone that wasn't running away. This was a big improvement.

"Hi."

The man sitting at the large desk did not move.

"Hey," John said, louder.

The man lifted his head and transferred his study from the paper to John. The reaction was getting to be familiar. Rounded eyes, mouth open in a little 'o' of surprise and the jerk of imminent flight.

In order to prevent this unfolding of events, John stood in front of the doors, barring the escape path. "Hey. I'm John Sheppard." He paused, awaiting the other man's introduction.

It didn't come, nor was it likely to as the man was still staring open-mouthed.

"Right. Have you seen others, like me? A man, dressed in something similar to this? He talks a lot, and a woman, also dressed like this? A tall man, has a, um, brown shirt?" John wished he'd paid closer attention to Ronon's clothes. Why didn't he wear a uniform, it would make things much simpler for him! John waited, but the man did not answer. He went on. "I'm not sure what I'm doing here, or where here is, so if you could just point me to the nearest stargate, I'll be out of your way." If he was free to move around, John had to assume that his team were in similar position and that they too would try to make it to the gate, as per established protocol.

The man squeaked.

"I just need a finger to point toward the stargate," John said pleasantly. "It's a big grey circle thing? With squiggly symbols on it?"

The man's face crumpled and his hand shook on the desk, as if he was under tremendous pain.

"Are you ok?" John enquired, giving up his mime-the-stargate game.

The man nodded and pointed insistently at the door. He was paling, his lips tight and thin. The hand shook more visibly and the rest of the man's body was rapidly following. "Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road," the man managed to get out, quite tunefully, before collapsing under his desk.

John hurried around the dark wooden monstrosity to find…

…nothing.

_Huh.  
_

* * *

TBC 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. I will try to post at least a chapter a week, and not skirt the edges of the week with a posting seven days after the previous since that is obviously cheating.

Unending love for Angela and Rox, who have wrestled this fic into its straightjacket! It's really not their fault it escaped, they did their very best - and what an impressive best that is.

**Chapter the Third: True Colours**

"Come here. You, hey, you, Thing-commonly-known-as-Sheppard. Come here." Rodney impatiently snapped his fingers in the direction of Freaky-Not-Sheppard. When his demand for movement went unheeded, he huffed and walked over to Not-Sheppard. He stood before the thing and waved a hand in its face. "Hey! Hello in there."

The hazel gaze slid up from his feet to his face and Rodney received a pleasant, dim-witted smile of recognition. "Yeah, hi, remember me. I'm the guy you've spent all morning with?"

"I remember you." At Rodney's arch eyebrow, the John Sheppard Copy provided more information. "Rodney McKay. Great friend and pain in the…ass?"

Rodney huffed before snapping his fingers in Not-Sheppard's face, because he could and it was immensely satisfying. "Half of that is accurate, at least. I am Rodney McKay, and a great friend indeed to be watching you, alone. There should be some security around, even if you are better than the real Sheppard in many ways." One look at Not-Sheppard's hopeful face had Rodney completing his thought. "But not quite right, so we're not keeping you. We're getting John Sheppard, flesh and bones, back. Never know when you might decide to go insane and kill me."

Not-Sheppard's face lost all the bright joy and settled on blank nothingness, and Rodney could not help the slight burn of guilt. He hated that face, and though he knew this was not the real Sheppard, thus not the real face, he hated it all the same. When John's face fell like that, it meant some very bad things were about to happen, had happened, or were happening. Which, McKay reasoned, they very well could be.

He, with a little help from Zelenka, had established that Not-Sheppard was indeed an inorganic being. They had pinpointed the location of a transmitter which they surmised communicated with those who had the real Sheppard – Radek's fanciful notion of adaptive updates of personality had been deemed stupider than Rodney could stand. From there had come an easy solution: track the signal and find Sheppard.

Only downside to this solution was that to track the signal, one had to take the receiver from its hiding place, in the very centre of Not-Sheppard's not-brain. It seemed that this pale copy of the colonel felt pain. The first incision Doctor Biro had practiced had been met with a gruelling scream. Biro, understandably, has dropped the saw and stepped back. At that point, Not-Sheppard had stopped all pretence of being the real Sheppard, and had proceeded to attach itself to McKay, much like small children seemed to do, finding the antics of the grumpy scientist amusing.

So Rodney was back at square one: with Not-Sheppard, in his lab, racking his brains for another way to find Sheppard. Screaming at Not-Sheppard had given little in the way of results and plenty in the way of sad eyes and pouting mouth – from Not-Sheppard – and nausea and unease – for Rodney.

Calibrating the scanners – again – Rodney spoke to Not-Sheppard in the same way he used to speak to his cat. Words flowed one into the other, with no precise message or purpose. They came, they went, just the sound of a voice lulling Not-Sheppard into…not _sleep_, that was ridiculous, he was a machine, but, perhaps, Rodney thought, a sense of security.

He did feel like a fabulous fool, speaking to a machine, but, though it looked like Sheppard, it was a lot more pleasant, and quiet.

"You know this might not work. I don't know what we'll do with you if the only solution is to cut you up, but from where I'm standing, it seems like the best solution. It's quick, it's easy. So, you might not like it, but you can't feel pain, can you?" Rodney turned to look at Not-Sheppard. "Can you? Really? Real pain? I assumed it was just the sound. Of course, you had to have known that was dangerous, but…if you were supposed to fool us, you'd have to feel pain, because Sheppard gets hurt all the time. Has no sense of basic safety, goes off running, jumping, fighting, like he's a twenty-something. He follows Ronon as if he can keep up! Moron."

While talking, Rodney had come to stand beside Not-Sheppard and he concluded his speech with a twisting nip to the skin of Not-Sheppard's bare arm.

"Ow," Not-Sheppard said, quietly and rather pitifully, pulling away from Rodney with betrayal on his face.

"Don't look at me like that, it was just a test."

The betrayal stayed firmly on the familiar features, and the pout returned.

"Don't! A test! Just a test! Don't be so –" Rodney's hands rolled in the air, indicating what Not-Sheppard was. "Just don't," Rodney concluded, annoyed by his incapability to find the right word.

The pout disappeared, but the betrayal stayed.

"Fine! Be like that! See if I don't recommend they cut you open anyways! You can scream all you want, I'll just walk away." He wouldn't; Rodney was physically incapable of walking away from John Sheppard, screaming out in pain. No matter that it was not John Sheppard, and that it was not real pain, he would never have been able to ignore the scream.

"McKay, stop fighting with the robot." Ronon strode in, followed by Teyla, and Radek.

"Oooh, lunch," Rodney said, gesturing for the tray Radek carried.

"Have you made any progress, Rodney?" Teyla enquired, glancing at Not-Sheppard who smiled and waved at her. She weakly returned the smile, unable to completely ignore the colonel's likeness.

"I've made progress."

Radek snorted and looked at the screen of Rodney's laptop. "Right, progress. You have become great friends with Roboshep, yes?'

"We're not calling him Roboshep! I _told_ you!"

"Have we not agreed that Sheppard was the best name?"

"No, we didn't agree. We," Rodney said gesturing solely to himself, "have been told by Elizabeth to call him Sheppard. _We_ have not agreed to any name. Anyways, he's been with me all morning and he's Not-Sheppard. That's that, right, Not-Sheppard?"

Not-Sheppard smiled. "Right, McKay,' he drawled in a familiar fashion. It was close to sarcastic, but not quite there.

Rodney turned to Radek. "There was a spike in his power consumption, earlier, I think he gets updates or something, because he seems more Sheppard-like when power spikes." McKay spoke with conviction, as if he had not spoken ill of Radek and his lineage for voicing the same theory.

"Spike? That is interesting. Is it possible that I was right? Is it possible that the Grand Master McKay was too quick to dismiss an idea which did not spring from his greedy little brain?"

"My brain is not little!"

"But it is greedy. Greedy, arrogant, insufferable man!" There was a long line of muttering in Czech.

Rodney mostly ignored the displeased sounds. "It doesn't matter who thought of it first, Radek, but it might help to get the tracker out of him and stop the signal"

The Czech muttering continued, unhindered by Rodney's nonsense. Not-Sheppard recoiled and Ronon astutely remarked, "I don't think he'd like that."

"Jeeeee, you think? Is it the earlier screaming that tipped you off?"

Radek, studying the laptop's screen, carefully pressed one key, then another.

"RADEK! Don't touch my work!"

"No shouting, we are done with that. Look," Radek said, pointing at a particular spot on the screen.

"What? What? What!" Rodney leaned forward and studied the screen. "Huh," he said, then, "Oh. Oh!"

Snap snap snap went the fingers before settling over the keyboard and typing up a storm. "Yes. Yes, this will work!" Rodney referenced the result of Not-Sheppard's scans.

Ronon and Teyla exited the lab, leaving Not-Sheppard to witness a phenomenon which gave those without scientific inclinations headaches. The Wonder Twins – granted, a smarter, older, and more competent version -- activated, and as expected, they retrieved a solution from the nebulous world of what if's and maybe's. Rodney and Radek were surprised, upon their return to the real world, to find Not-Sheppard curled into a ball, his face resting against the floor of the lab. After a brief discussion of a machine's need for rest, Rodney decidedly concluded that it was a part of Sheppard's personality, the laziness inherent to the real man, that had forced Not-Sheppard to nap. They left Not-Sheppard to his snoring, arguing that a machine should not snore.

Elizabeth was startled by two grown men, eyes bright and mouths smiling, erupting in her office and tag-teaming her with a high speed technological spiel. She watched the metaphorical ball going back and forth between her two top scientists until the twinge in her neck indicated she had had enough. "Ok. Ok. You found something. Explain. Coherently."

"We can get the signal without cutting Not-Sheppard up."

"Yes, Colonel Sheppard has scar on his arm from the change? The bug change? So does RoboShep."

"Except _Not-Sheppard_ didn't get turned into a bug. It's a port. We can connect directly – well, not directly, it'll take a few modification to be accessible and for our system to work with its system. Of course, if it doesn't have an interface we'll have to create one that's compatible and that we can--"

"Rodney," Elizabeth interrupted, wanting relevant information only.

"Yes. We can probably pinpoint the signal by logging on Not-Sheppard's system. It should be easy."

"Not easy, RoboShep certainly is sophisticated—"

"The _theory_ is simple enough."

"Timeframe?"

"A few hours."

"No, more. Two, perhaps three days. Time to eat and sleep included in the count," Radek conservatively estimated.

"One day."

"Two."

"_Twelve hours_."

Elizabeth interrupted the impending cock fight. "Timeframe is not as important as the results. Go, keep me updated."

The Wonder Twins nodded and left, bickering over time and abilities.

**-O-O-O-O-O-**

Not-Sheppard followed quietly. He moved closer to Rodney when they reached the jumper bay. The bustling activity of the pre-gating routine was in full force: Ronon spun his gun, Teyla watched calmly and marines stood with their hands on their guns. Rodney started toward the jumper.

Not-Sheppard remained rooted at the door.

"McKay," Ronon said, indicating Not-Sheppard.

Rodney turned and spotted the motionless copy of his team leader. "Hey! You! Come here!"

Not-Sheppard bit his lip and shuffled his feet. It was alarmingly endearing and even Ronon had to suppress a smile.

"For God's sake! Get over here!"

Not-Sheppard looked at his shoes and tugged on his vest. Rodney had given him a vest only because Sheppard should have a vest when going off world, copy or no copy.

"Come on," whined Rodney.

Still, Not-Sheppard refused to move. Grumbling, Rodney went back to the door and stood beside Not-Sheppard. "Come here. NOW!"

Not-Sheppard moved closer to Rodney, who huffed and grumbled about eager puppies and always knowing it all the way to the jumper. The marines watched the duo with aggressive determination. Someone had taken their CO. They needed their CO. They would get their CO back. End. Of. Story.

Taking his place in the driver's seat, Rodney started the pre-flight routine. He concentrated on the jumper, momentarily forgetting the world that surrounded him. That is, until a presence made itself known by standing right beside Rodney's chair.

"What!" Rodney demanded, looking up at Not-Sheppard with a frown.

"I fly," Not-Sheppard said, stroking the console lovingly.

"What! No!"

"I fly, I love to fly."

"You. Are. NOT. Sheppard! Now is not the time to get back in the role."

"I fly."

"No!"

"I fly."

'NO!"

"I fly, _please_."

"I said no! Somebody take him away from me!"

When nobody moved, Rodney sighed and got up from his seat. He took hold of Not-Sheppard's arm and forced him into the back of the jumper, cursing Sheppard's overpowering love for the jumpers that even a copy could not suppress. He pushed him into the bench between Ronon and the enormous marine, and sternly warned Not-Sheppard, "You stay here! I'm flying this ship. You are not Sheppard; you don't get to boss people around and be obnoxious. Be. Quiet!"

Not-Sheppard pouted, but Rodney ignored it and returned to his seat. The team prepared to embark on mission "Recover Lost Organic Idiot" – Rodney's mission title – or mission "Find Sheppard" – everybody else's mission title.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter the Fourth: A Day in the Life**

Following his encounter with the invisible man, John had searched the office, to no avail. It was very strange: There was no personal effect; the drawers of the desk were empty. There was no bookshelf or storage unit. This room was devoid of any practicality. John looked over the papers on the desk, but he was unfamiliar with the script.

He left the room, explored the other two, but they too held no answer for him. He proceeded down the stairs with a sigh.

_Too many steps._

No yellow brick road, just dark wooden stairs. John had been surprised by the earthly reference, but he had long ago stopped worrying over things that did not immediately harm him. Perhaps they had probed his mind which, granted, was not reassuring at all, but he was whole and not imprisoned so he felt justified in keeping his confidence. He had been in worse situation and gotten out without many injuries.

_You just keep going; you'll get out of this one, too._

Sheppard reached another floor that held only one door. He entered and his mouth watered. The scent of grilled meat coated his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, exhaling with a satisfied sigh. He approached the long table that stretched through the middle of the room and his stomach rumbled demandingly.

"Suppertime? Suppertime! Behold the brimming bowl of meat and meal which is brought forth to ease our hunger. Behold the flowing flagon moist and sweet which has been sent to stake our thirst!"

John turned, surprised by the voice – the singing voice. Sheppard had not even seen the man that stood beside the door, and now he was dancing and making quite a production of supper. As John watched, the man continued his spectacle, dancing around the table, singing in a rich baritone.

"It's suppertime. Yeah, it's suppertime. Oh, it's sup-sup suppertime very best time of day. It's suppertime. Yeah, it's sup-per time. And when suppertime comes can supper be far away?" 

As quickly as he had jumped in John's line of sight, he was gone. John did not chase after him, it was a useless pursuit. He did search his mind for a moment, sure he had heard that song before, but dismissed it. It was the mention of the yellow brick road that had sent him on a strange trail. They were probably just a very weird and artistic people. He really had no wish to worry about his team or his own health; they were weird, not dangerous.

_Yeah, that sounds about right; weirdoes, not psychopaths._

John shook off the feeling of having been sucker-punched by a song and dance number, and walked up, down and around the table, picking up random bits of food. It had all been cut to bite size and the plates were interspersed with glasses of ale and water. John ate enough to satisfy his hunger. As he was getting ready to leave, drinking a last tumbler of water, a woman entered the room. She wore a flowing green dress of a material similar to that in which John had woken earlier. She smiled pleasantly as John frowned.

"John Sheppard," she said in a soft voice. It was almost a caress, the _n_ full and long, the _sh_ quiet and soft. Of course, no matter what one did, _ard_ would always be a little aggressive. "John Sheppard," she repeated.

John drew closer to her in silence, feeling warmth flow through his body. She spoke his name reverently and looked at him with awe, and, most importantly, didn't sing.

"John Sheppard," she whispered when he stopped before her. "You must go up. Return to your chamber."

"I have to find the gate," John whispered back, taken in by the quietness of the moment.

She stretched a hand, was about to run a finger over his cheek when the man that had been there earlier, returned. "Noooooooooo," he sang in one long and powerful note, sliding to them on his knees, his arms outstretched. He finished his note with a show of jazz hands before taking hold of the woman's waist and leading her away in delicate waltz. She sang as she was led away, a few stray tears escaping her eyes.

"As long as he needs me, I know where I must be. I'll cling on steadfastly, as long as he needs me. As long as life is long, I'll love him, right or wrong, and somehow I'll be strong, as long as he needs me."

She was lifted in the air and John could only stand, nonplussed but strangely awed by the beauty of the choreography. The man gently guided; the woman followed as if by instinct. They danced as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"If you are lonely, then you will know, when someone needs you, you love them so. I won't betray his trust, though people say I must. I've got to stay true just as long as he needs me."

They disappeared, effectively breaking the rope that had held John spellbound. It was possible that he had developed an instantaneous crush on the woman, but he would dare anyone to be sung to like that and not have a smidgeon of their heart give up.

"Hey, wait!" John ran after them. He exited the room and listened for footsteps, or dance steps, but none could be heard. He sighed and chose to continue on his trek down the stairs. At the next level he found a windowed room and was able to see the settlement, which had not grown that much bigger. John was still very high up. It would take many hours for him to reach the ground, and even more for him to reach the gate. Perhaps even days, or months, who knew where the gate was! Self-sufficient societies had been encountered before, and they always settled far from the gate, sometimes unaware of its existence.

John hoped this wasn't one of those. He turned his head, sticking his face to the glass, but as far as he could see, there was no gate. He then scanned the sky, hoping for the glimmer of a puddle jumper, though he would have been incensed to see his people fly over an unknown world without activating the cloak.

Turning away from the glass, John wished he wasn't alone here. He turned back to the glass and peered down in the remotest glimmer of hope of seeing his team. Of course, John had not been gifted with bionic eyes, so he could not see that far down.

He returned to the unending stairs. He was not overly concerned by what the woman had said. It seemed she had not supported his plan of going down, but no one came to stop him, so he thought it was safe to proceed further.

He went down. And down. And down. For hours, he ran, jumped, skipped and walked down the stairs. When the oranges and pinks of dawn covered the night's black, he found a chaise loungue and collapsed into it. He stayed alert but gave his body a much-deserved break. His intention was never to fall asleep, but he did.

He awoke to the sound of feminine giggles and soft touches, and his spirit sank lower than the settlement.

He opened one eye and confirmed his suspicion. Blues, greens; rich, dark browns. He was in the room from which he had started his journey the day before. He groaned and closed his eyes, as he was left alone with a cloud of spicy perfume. Was this what his life would be now? Running down stairs all day only to wake up in the same room?

_Damn it all to hell!_

Let it never be said that John Sheppard lacked fortitude, for once he had taken the second to be annoyed, he got up, donned his clothing and walked into the gigantic bathroom once again. He had not been harmed, seemed to be free to go where he pleased, despite the woman's instructions the previous night.

In the linen closet, he encountered a group of girls that smelled like his awakening. They wore tight bodice tops and flowing skirts. The woman he had encountered previously in the banquet hall was there, in the middle, humming softly to herself.

"Hi," John said cautiously, fully expecting to see them leap away, agile as gazelles.

They did not. They froze, their mouths forming an "o" of surprise that was starting to be familiar. Then they sang. The woman stood, surrounded by the other three, standing on the tip of her toes, her arms outstretched, and as she sang, they all danced as one in what John would forever remember as the linen closet ballet.

"I feel pretty, oh, so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and gay! And I pity any girl who isn't me today. I feel charming, oh, so charming. It's alarming how charming I feel! And so pretty that I hardly can believe I'm real. See the pretty girl in that mirror there: who can that attractive girl be? Such a pretty face, such a pretty dress, such a pretty smile, such a pretty me!"

_I know this song. West Side Story – she loved it. She sang it in the kitchen! _

There was no way this was a coincidence. They were reading his brain! No! They had his team! They had his team and were torturing them for…show…tunes. That made so little sense, John worried for a moment that he had finally lost it. It had only been a matter of time the way his life had been going. Sure, he'd thought Rodney would drive him to madness, but people that sang and danced instead of answering his questions were just as bad.

"Ok, that's enough!" John grabbed the closest dancer by the arm and quickly had her in a choking grip. He did not hold her tightly, so she was not choking – she could breathe normally – but the threat was there. "What's going on here, and where's my team?" As he asked, he noticed the peculiar feel of the woman's skin against his, but wanted answers rather than more questions.

The number continued around the woman, one of her companion singing for her. She came closer to John. She spoke in the same quiet voice as she had the night before. "John Sheppard. Do not worry. There is no danger here."

"What's that song you're singing? How do you know it?"

"John Sheppard," she said, longingly, running a finger over his cheek.

He released the girl he had taken hostage, now fully aware of the feel of these women's skin. It felt like energy, like warmth and the jolt of static electricity. He was reaching out to touch the woman when the man he had encountered in the banquet hall came cart-wheeling in, singing his long, steady note.

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo." He pulled the woman away from Sheppard, giving him a murderous look while he did so.

"Great," John said, throwing his hands in the air as everyone danced out of the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I don't remember where I am with the replies, so if you get a second message thanking you for being completely awesome and commenting please know that the hole in my memory sent it. :)

**A/N2:** Disbelief has been suspended, right? Ok, just checking.

Thank you Angela. Thank you Rox. You are magnificent and I am unworthy.

**Chapter the Fifth: Yellow**

"There's Colonel Sheppard's subcutaneous tracker signal."

Rodney sighed for the umpteenth time that day. "Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious, I saw it."

"Klein."

"What?"

"I'm Captain Klein. Captain Obvious left when he saw the position was filled...sir" The marine left just enough of a lull in his speech for Rodney to bristle, but not enough for him to be able to do anything about it.

Rodney groaned instead of calling Klein on his cheek. "Everybody's a comedian." He angled the jumper toward the colonel's signal and as they neared the location, his confidence waned. Yes, they had easily traced the signal and knew where Sheppard was, but as he seemed to be inside a mountain, it wasn't really helpful.

"Rodney?"

"Yes, Teyla, the signal is coming from that mountain."

"How can –"

"I don't know, and I'm pretty busy trying to land this thing so if you could give me two minutes to get you all the answers, I will." Rodney was more abrasive than usual, but he was suddenly regretting his decision to berate all members of the rescue team until they understood that he should be the one flying. He should not be the one flying; he had only wanted to and had seen the chance to do so without Sheppard, or any other military goons who would have unceremoniously shoved him away from the pilot seat, refusing to let him. The new kids were still somewhat afraid of the glare: there was at least satisfaction in that.

"Less with the trying and more with the landing."

"Thank you, Ronon. I'm glad you took it upon yourself to replace our witty team leader. It isn't necessary; I'd like to avoid my brain leaking out of my ear today."

"Should've let somebody else drive," was Ronon's mumbled answer.

Rodney returned his concentration to landing the jumper at the foot of the mountain that held Sheppard's tracker signal. He could do it, he wasn't as bad a pilot as Carson, but it took a lot of his considerable mind to do it without any damage. Was anything to happen to the jumper, you could bet it would be the first thing Sheppard would notice.

It seemed to take a long time for the jumper to touch the ground, long enough that Rodney grew uncomfortable.

"McKay."

"I'm trying! I'm trying, but it isn't happening."

"You are doing very well, Rodney."

"No he's not."

"Ronon!"

Rodney was starting to sweat. He hated sweating, it was disgusting. He could feel it, the beads of perspiration sliding over his forehead, down his neck, down his back. He was getting nervous, and nerves didn't mix with flying. He could hear Sheppard's insistent and bossy voice sound in his head. _Ease up, controls aren't going anywhere. Feel the jumper, it'll respond to you._

Rodney had no idea what feel the jumper meant, but he was sure he wasn't doing it now because the ship was not responding to him at all. In fact, it was rising and turning around, which was the very opposite of what Rodney wanted it to do.

Rodney thought at it. He thought at it really hard, cursing it to hell in five different languages.

"Come on, you piece of crap ship! I knew you hated me! I knew it! Turn back! Turn back," he whined, the wailing more pronounced on his last word. He tapped the console with his hand, gently. He wasn't a moron, he knew people hit malfunctioning object just for the satisfaction. He wasn't about to hit the jumper!

"What is going on?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out. I need – take the controls. It's all on, just watch the controls. The jumper isn't responding at all, you'll be fine."

At Teyla's nod, Rodney proceeded to the back of the jumper. Ignoring the bright, welcoming smile Not-Sheppard offered, Rodney plugged his tablet into the jumper's intricate brain and searched for the problem. Nothing bleeped, nothing blinked, nothing registered, and yet the jumper kept going in the opposite direction than the desired one. The jumper was under Rodney's control. He could activate any system he wanted, he could send commands, he could _fly_ the jumper, but it changed nothing. They had no control over it. It was as if it had developed a mind of its own, and Rodney would not put it past it. It was Ancient, and if there was one thing you could be certain of when dealing with Ancient technology, it was that there was no certainty.

Sheppard would wet himself if it turned out the jumpers were sentient.

"Rodney," Teyla called from her seat.

"Busy!"

"Rodney, you should see this."

Not-Sheppard moved, bending forward from his seat, to see out of the window. With a distressed cry, he grabbed onto the nearest thing: Rodney's pant leg.

"Hey!" Rodney squealed, falling down when Not-Sheppard moved back.

Not-Sheppard, holding on to Rodney as if his life depended on it, followed him down to the jumper floor.

"Let go! Let me go." Rodney managed to sit up, pushing Not-Sheppard away.

Not-Sheppard held on.

Rodney looked at the marines and Ronon who were holding their laughter unsuccessfully. "Help me!" he demanded, still trying to disengage himself from Not-Sheppard. "Get that thing away from me!"

Ronon stood, grabbed Not-Sheppard by the arm and pulled, pulled, and pulled. Finally, Not-Sheppard released Rodney's pant leg with a wail and the scientist was free.

"Rodney," came Teyla's voice.

"Still busy!"

"Rodney, we are crashing."

"WHAT!"

Rodney rushed to the front of the ship and saw the ground coming closer and closer. The jumper was going down at a perpendicular angle and it would fall like a can of soup, landing straight up. "We're crashing! Why are we crashing?"

"The controls do not respond. Rodney!"

"Yes, that's obvious," he shouted, keeping one hand on the jumper's control, the other typing on his datapad. Rodney didn't understand. There was nothing wrong. They were _not_ crashing. All the instruments were behaving normally and indicated that no one was crashing.

The instruments were full of it because they were, in actuality, crashing. Rodney felt betrayed; technology was _lying_ to him.

Rodney pulled a crystal out, then another, and another, moving with an ease practice had procured him. He rearranged them and looked at the tablet.

Nothing.

"Rodney!"

"I know we're crashing, but the jumper keeps telling me we're not!"

"It is right. We are now stationary."

Rodney froze. "We what?"

"We are no longer moving," Teyla answered, sounding surprised.

"How'd you do that?!" Rodney came to stand beside the pilot's chair, Not-Sheppard following with one hand fisted at the back of Rodney's shirt.

"I did not do it, but it is possible that did." Teyla said, pointing at something outside.

A cloud of yellow lights was forming in front of the window, blocking the view. Rodney did a scan of the jumper's exterior, and it registered an imposing blob of energy. "They're all around."

"What are they?"

Rodney bent over the console and almost stuck his face to the window. As he did, one little ball of light detached itself from the cloud and fleeted a few inches from Rodney's nose. The scientist pulled back, despite the thick glass that separated him from the outside. He answered Teyla's question, his voice holding an undertone of puzzlement, "Glowy bugs."

"Glowy bugs?"

"Yeah. We saw some a few years back," Rodney answered, frowning.

"I do not recall seeing such things."

"You weren't there. It was…" Rodney trailed off, swallowing loudly. "We went to the planet…with the crashed Wraith ship."

Remembering the outcome of that trip, Teyla nodded and asked no further. There was a heavy silence in the cabin for a moment, as Rodney remembered his fallen colleagues. Ronon hadn't understood the Earthling's reasoning when he had first joined the team; McKay could do the technological things, but why was he put in combat situation when he was far from being a soldier? The retelling of that mission and John's forced chuckle at the memory of Rodney forgetting to reload had marked Ronon, and his view of McKay had shifted to allow new possibilities. Because of that knowledge, Ronon had decided to nurture the warrior he could finally see hiding behind the panic-widened eyes. Looking out, Ronon said, "We've landed."

All eyes went to the outside that was unhidden by the cloud of light.

"They're still around the jumper," Rodney announced, looking down at the datapad he held, then back outside.

"Maybe they want him. The signal was from this place," Ronon said, indicating Not-Sheppard with a jerk of his head.

Not-Sheppard whimpered and put both arms around Rodney's torso. He rested his cheek on the man's back and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Hey! Get off, you limpet! Get off, get off, get off. It's touching me! Touching!"

An elbow in the side was enough for Not-Sheppard to release Rodney from his embrace, though he kept a firm hold on his shirt. Turning, Rodney considered Not-Sheppard. "Right. Open the hatch, he's getting out."

"Rodney," Not-Sheppard whispered, eyes wide and pleading.

McKay's shoulders slumped and the corners of his mouth fell lower. He held a finger up in warning. "Don't. No. Don't."

The pleading look was joined by a pout.

"Don't look at me like that!"

"Rodney. No," Not-Sheppard whispered.

"You're going out there! We need to get Sheppard back! We don't _need _you, ok? We want him, the real one, not the pale, pouting copy." Rodney turned to Ronon. "Get him," he said, and then went to activate the emergency latch. Rodney told himself, sternly, that he had not grown attached to the robotic version of his best friend and had no qualms over giving him up to get the organic version of his best friend back.

Seeing Ronon push a pleading Sheppard out of the jumper was not something Rodney wished to witness ever again. Both men returned to the front of the jumper. The tablet told Rodney that no glowy bugs had moved; Not-Sheppard still stood alone, by the door. In fact, Rodney could hear him pound on the door and scream his name.

It was a disturbing experience; one that did nothing to assuage Rodney's guilt, or to encourage the yellow cloud to move away from the jumper.

They needed marines, strapping young lads filled with testosterone. Rodney looked at Captain Klein. He was big, close to Ronon-big. He appeared to be of normal intelligence, for a marine. He would do.

"Klein. Get out there and send Not-Sheppard the glowy bugs' way."

"Sure thing, Doctor McKay," said the ever-helpful Klein, already moving toward the hatch. It lowered and Klein stepped through, intercepting Not-Sheppard's way.

"Rodney! No!" Sheppard pleaded once more, stretching his arms, struggling against Klein's hold.

The hatch closed and Rodney felt like more of a bastard than he previously had.

They watched Captain Klein pull Not-Sheppard toward the glowy bugs. The yellow cloud did not seem to notice their presence. Klein went closer. He walked right into the cloud that only parted at the last moment to let him through.

"Doesn't seem they want him."

"Thank you, Klein, we hadn't deduced that from the way they are showing no interest whatsoever in you or Not-Sheppard."

"You're welcome."

Rodney sighed his impatience.

"Let's go," Ronon ordered.

"Hey! Who died and made you leader!" Rodney winced as the commonly-used phrase hit a particularly tender area of his psyche.

"No one. I'm bigger, get moving."

Rodney grumbled all through re-shouldering his pack and walking down the ramp, but stopped when the bugs surrounded the team.

High-pitch screams were Rodney's contributions to the release attempt Teyla, Ronon and he made as they were enveloped in a cloud of yellow lights and carried toward the mountain.

Klein and the rest of the rescue team were left beside the jumper, staring, as Not-Sheppard ran after the cloud that was growing smaller and smaller in the sky.

"Rooooooooooooooooooooooooooodney! Noooooooooooooooooooo!" Not-Sheppard cried.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter the Sixth: All I Ask**

It had been hours since John had encountered singing people, and he couldn't say he was feeling any worse for the loss. He continued to make his way down the stairs at a rapid pace, the thought of reaching the gate driving him past his physical discomfort. He had started counting the steps a while back, to keep his mind off his battered feet, but was soon presented with an alternative means of distraction as he was once more ambushed by the Pegasus Ballet. The woman John liked, a bit, mostly because she had spoken to him, was not with them. John wondered if she had gotten in trouble for touching him. The No-Man only appeared when she touched. The three women had nothing good to announce, though John had to admit that receiving a threat through song was a lot less intimidating than the threatening situation he usually experienced.

"You better, you better, telling you, you better, tell your mama something's gonna get her. She better, everybody better beware. Oo, here it comes, baby. Tell the world, baby. Oh, oh, no! Oo, hit the dirt, baby. Hit the dirt, baby. Oh, oh, no! Oh, oh, no!"

The three women continued to sing their happy tune while guiding Sheppard back to where he had come from. They left him at the upper level and disappeared, as everyone did on this exasperating planet. John had no real interest in finding out how they left his field of vision so quickly, or how they knew the opening number to Little Shop of Horrors and why they used it to intimidate him; he wanted to get home. Then, he would have all the time to figure it out. 

Ignoring the musical warning he had received, John went down the steps he had just climbed. The minute his foot touched the last step of that particular staircase, the three women reappeared. They looked at him, arms crossed, foot tapping a rhythm. John put both hands on the railing and jumped over it, bypassing the girls. He looked back as he ran down the following set of steps, but they weren't there. He looked down and of course, that is where they were, standing at the bottom of the staircase, arms crossed, tapping their foot.

John tried his luck again, jumping over the railing again, and again, and again until the three women appeared with the woman who talked. John stopped.

"What am I doing here?"

The three women started snapping their fingers in counter beat to their foot. The woman he had met in the banquet hall once again ran a finger down John's face. It left John's skin feeling tingly and electrified.

"They have come for you."

"Who?"

"Your travel group. Three. They have come for you."

"Where are they?"

The three women started on the background vocals and John knew he had gotten all the information that would be provided.

John sat down on the step, taking a moment for himself while the women sang to him about being family. It was annoying, more than anything, and while John hated his position, he couldn't really be concerned. Now that he knew his team had come, he just had to find them and they would be on their way. There hadn't been an exact threat to his person so far, and if the worst everyone was going to do was serenade him, John would easily deal with that.

Once the song was finished, the women disappeared and John resumed his run. He ran until his whole body ached and he panted. He went further and further down, encouraged by the progress he had made, and that no one came to stop him.

John felt completely alone in this ridiculously tall building, until he bumped into his team. The relief he felt at the sight of them, whole and healthy, was almost enough to make him overlook the creepy smiles they all wore.

"Hey, guys."

They looked at him, smiles spreading wide and happy. John took a step back. Then, they sang. John might have panicked, a little, and run.

He was quickly face down on the floor, the victim of Ronon's dangerously painful flying tackle. As John was pulled to his feet, groaning and trying to get some air into his squashed lungs, Rodney came closer.

John watched him warily. Rodney smiled brightly and opened his mouth, taking in a deep breath.

The song started again, but John was trapped by the steel of Ronon's arms, unable to move away as Rodney came closer and serenaded him; John tried very hard not to be impressed by the quality of Rodney's voice. Had he considered it, John would have thought the scientist without any artistic talent, but that would have been stupid of him, for he knew very well McKay had had dreams of being a concert pianist.

"No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears; I'm here, nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you. Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears. I'm here, with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you."

In a very deep and repressed part of his being, John appreciated the touch of McKay's hand on his shoulder and the sincerity on his face as he sang words of comfort. The thought was quickly denied and erased never to exist again, and John could comfort himself with the knowledge that he appreciated Teyla's touch and song a lot more.

"Say you'll love me every waking moment; turn my head with talk of summertime. Say you need me with you now and always; promise me that all you say is true, that's all I ask of you. Let me be your shelter, let me be your light; you're safe, no one will find you, your fears are far behind you."

John was not prepared for the deep bass of Ronon's voice to explode right beside his ear. He jumped, startled, but was held in place by three pairs of hands that stroked him gently.

"All I want is freedom, a world with no more night; and you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me."

The closing verses were a powerful marriage of the three voices John had come to know almost as well as his own.

"Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime; let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me with you, here beside you, anywhere you go, let me go too, that's all I ask of you."

The voices were right, the physical appearance was right, but the words, the personalities were all wrong. Rodney didn't touch people if he didn't have to, Ronon certainly didn't stroke men's neck like that, and Teyla had never rested her head so contentedly on John's chest. His team, his friends, did not serenade him on alien planets, and, most damning evidence, they did not give John jolts of static electricity when they touched him.

"Uh, guys?" John managed through the love fest that was taking place around him.

They did not answer, only stroked.

"Guys. You mind letting me go? It's been nice and all, but we really need to get out of here and get Carson to wean you off the happy pills."

Rodney released his hold and stepped back, smiling. John frowned at him. "McKay. We need to get out of here."

"No we don't," Ronon answered.

That was pretty much the answer John was going to get for the next few hours. At least, no one sang to him for a while because he forbade it, and, miraculously, they listened.

**-OOOOO-**

Rodney looked morosely to his right, where Teyla floated with all the grace she usually possessed, and to his left, where Ronon was his usual angry self. He then looked down at himself, gooey, nude, the victim of intubation and test tubation. Perfect! What else could go wrong?

Rodney startled when he received his answer. _Oh my God, that's me_, he thought, looking at a copy of himself. _No, no, no, no, _continued his temporarily useless mind. Not-McKay laid a hand on the tube that contained the original McKay, the downturn of his mouth becoming more pronounced. Not-McKay tapped the tube with one finger, as if trying to get McKay's attention.

I am not a goldfish, was what McKay would have snarled was he not submerged in slime, breathing through a tube and unwilling to open his mouth. As it was, he could only frown at his copy who stroked the tubing slowly, as if in comfort.

McKay felt vibrations from his left and was not surprised to see Ronon agitating himself in the tube next door. Not-Ronon stood before the tube, arms crossed, calmly observing his original who was throwing himself at the confining, clear walls in a great show of ineffectuality. Looking to the right, Rodney saw that Teyla was trying to communicate with her double; her tactics were just as ineffectual as Ronon's. Wanting to sigh, Rodney settled for rolling his eyes and hiding his shame from his copy. He felt very small and insignificant, soaking in goo, covering himself with his hands. He would feel much better was he able to do something to escape. He turned, trying to see as much of the outside room as he could, but it led to little in the way of conclusion. It was a lab, a white and hopefully sterile one. There was one more tube, most likely for Sheppard, and a large console that seemed to track their vitals. He was certain that screen tracked heartbeat, that one respiration and levels of oxygen, carbon dioxide and whatever else The Matrix-influenced people needed to track. He thought the next screen monitored brain activity and had absolutely no clue as to the last one.

They needed a plan; one that did not involve trying to break through what was obviously unbreakable material, or reasoning with a robotic and idiotic version of himself. McKay continued his examination of the lab. From what he could see, there was no chair, no desk, nowhere for a being to work. Clue number one: no one worked here, or if they did, they did not stay long. Perhaps they had no body. _Clue is inconclusive and useless. _

_Next clue: no visible doors or any sort of opening in the walls. We are not dealing with humanoids, or if we are, they have extremely interesting technology. Further proof, they seem to be able to control the glowy bugs. _

_Is there information to be had from the glowy bugs? They like powerbars, they aren't dangerous, in small numbers, and are a good distraction for the Wraith. _

_More useless information._ Looking up, McKay evaluated the top of his test tube. Was it possible to get out of here? Possibly, and Ronon had to conserve his strength for when they did get out. Ronon had managed to force the glowy bugs to let him go for a mere second when they were being carried through the air. It had had a frightening Looney Tunes feel: one second Ronon was hanging in the air, the next he was falling with a comically surprised expression on his face. The yellow light had caught him quickly, and it had been yet another wasted part of Rodney's day, but there was hope. Ronon could possibly escape the yellow irritants, and maybe he could escape this room.

Turning back to Not-McKay, McKay thought at it, he thought at it hard. Not-McKay was as receptive to this as the jumper had been earlier.

No magical link seemed to exist; Teyla's way would have to be attempted. Shifting his hand, McKay tapped the side of the tube, right where Not-McKay's face frowned at him. Hindered by the goo, he slowly pointed to Not-McKay, then to Ronon, then to his own eyes.

He had to repeat the process twelve times before Not-McKay went to knock on Ronon's test tube and pointed to McKay. Ronon stopped fighting in slow-motion and gave Rodney the enquiring eyebrow. McKay made the cease and desist sign, then pointed to the top. He pointed at Ronon then made the signal for stop and wait.

Ronon frowned but did not resume his fight. He crossed his arm and McKay made a face at him. _Lower your arms! I've seen enough of you._

Rodney then spent ten minutes trying to get Teyla's help. She understood quickly, it was Not-McKay that had been difficult to convince. Once his team-mates were on the same page, Rodney returned his attention to the top of the tube. He hoped it would simply pop out, like all good pop caps did, but was unconvinced. He examined the tubes and how they went from him to the outside. They went through the heavy material that formed the cap and were attached to the machines that stood on the opposite wall. Rodney wondered what would happen if he was to simply…pull on one of these tubes.

He catalogued them. Air, no keep that. What was probably a feeding tube, keeping that. Evacuation, similarly important; brain, heart, respiratory monitoring, might come in handy, couldn't risk the great brain.

Blue or red? The blue split into intravenous tubing that stopped at his elbows and feet; the red was attached to the base of his neck. The blue was either putting in or taking out, and who knew what the red did. McKay liked blue and red. He liked both in liquorice, in Jell-O, in socks. He liked blue shirts, supposed he had grown used to them, and liked blue eyes, because red eyes were all kinds of bad news. _Blue? Red? Blue? Red?_

He would not be swayed by ridiculously sentimental nationalism. No, he most definitely would not be.

The blue tube came out.

Maybe he had an affinity with red from his father's deep-seated patriotism, but that did not mean he had let emotions guide him. He was a scientist, a man of logic and cool-headed reflection.

Nothing happened for a long, boring time. Then Rodney fainted and a lot more nothing happened.

Not-Ronon frowned at his original. Not-Teyla sat on the ground, her back resting against Teyla's tube. Not-McKay tapped Rodney's tube forlornly as Ronon quintupled his effort to get free.

None was more surprised than Ronon, mostly because Rodney was still unconscious and could not be surprised at that precise moment, when he managed to pop the cap to the tube that held him captive and climb out of the goo he had woken in. He strolled jauntily to Teyla's tube and liberated her in a show of masculine proficiency that would have made all the marines weep.

McKay's liberation involved more falling, flailing, and getting hit in the face by the overexcited scientist's hands.

"Let's go," Ronon said.

"Where?" Rodney answered, arms crossed over his chest, forgetting to cover himself in his righteous glaring.

"Out."

"Through where?"

"Through the door you'll find!"

Rodney held up a pointing finger. "Don't intimidate me," he ordered before turning around and doing exactly what he'd been told to do. As he moved toward the machines, his eyes encountered a sight that encouraged him. "Our stuff!" he exclaimed, rushing to his clothes and pack, closely followed by Teyla and Ronon.

They all dressed hurriedly and went on a door hunt, aided by their copies. Hands ran over walls, feeling for a seam, a button, a weak spot.

Luckily for them, many floors above, someone was throwing a tantrum that would ultimately lead to their collective freedom.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter the Seventh: In the Family**

"ENOUGH! I've had it with this place. I want out, **now**," John roared to no one. He paced the landing before returning to the space where his team lay.

_No, they look like them; they're not. Get over it._

John crouched by Ronon, looking into what appeared to be a metal helmet covered with a Ronon mask. John had been trying to ditch these people – things – that pretended to be his team when Ronon had stopped running after him and frozen. He had stood still, right foot on a step, the left poised above the lower step. John had looked up as he engaged in the lower staircase and seen Ronon's face swing open as if there were hinges located on the left side of Ronon's jaw and forehead.

Sheppard had stopped running, staring at this impossible sight. Then, Ronon, with his face _open_, had moved backwards up the steps and collapsed on the landing. There had been a yellow light then nothing. John had run up and witnessed these lights shoot away too quickly to be identified.

_You have to go; they're not anyone you know. Copies means the real ones are here somewhere, find them. _

With a last look at the representations of his friends, John started running down the stairs again. It was getting tiresome, and he almost wished for something to threaten him just to break the monotony of running down dark wooden stairs hour after hour after hour. Something had to happen.

_Can't be running all my life; something's bound to come up._

Something did. The only person that almost made sense in this place appeared in front of him.

_No, that's materialising. _

"Oh shit!" John exclaimed, trying to avoid colliding with her. He managed to twist himself enough so he did not bring the woman down with him when he fell. At the loud crack his body made, he wished he had not bothered himself. As the pain spread from his shoulder outward, he longed to be somewhere else, anywhere else, doing anything else but this! "Please don't sing," he asked of the woman as she opened her mouth.

"No," she said, smiling through the concern. "Are you in pain?"

"It's not that bad," John answered, because it was just a busted shoulder, and when had he ever complained about physical pain to possible threats? Or to anyone? The soothing caresses from her hand were back, as were the electric tingles, so perhaps he could overlook the pain – oh the pain – for a second or two.

"You will not need move anymore. My mother has arrived, she will meet with you and soon, very soon, you shall be free to enter the settlement, as you seem to wish it."

"And my team?"

The woman's face gained a puzzled expression. "I do not understand."

"People. They came. They wear the same clothes, and they were with me for a while."

"Oh, them." Puzzlement slid into a distasteful moue.

"I'd like to see them. The real ones."

She shook her head, sending her brown hair floating. "That is impo –"

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

"NO yourself!" John answered the man that had slid down the banister and was sure to take the woman away. John placed himself between the woman and the man, ready to fight with a busted shoulder if it was unavoidable.

_That guy's done nothing but put on a show, you can take him. Easy._

John glared, and the man hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. John raised one fist and glared harder. The man came closer and reached out for the woman. John sent his fist in a direct collision course with the man's face.

The man turned into yellow light right in front of John's eyes. John was taken aback and the yellow light flew away before he could react. John tumbled, following his fist through unoccupied air.

"What the hell was that!" he asked the woman.

"My suitor," she answered, her eyes angry and her voice tight. "He must not know my mother has returned."

_Yeah, I got nothing,_ supplied John's brain. "Your suitor…" John was forced to repeat, for his higher functions seemed to be as nonplussed as John felt. Yellow lights did not escape from faces, and people did not turn into lights unless they were, or trying to be, Ancients. John Sheppard knew a thing or two about Ascension and those that chose that path, and that man was not even close to an Ancient, ascended or otherwise!

"He is not pleased that the Ruling Common might be denied to him in your favour." She took John's left hand between her own. "I know my behaviour to be careless toward my people, but I cannot stay away. I watch you, and now that she has returned, I can. Mother will allow me to be with you, give me the time I need to interact in the way you seem to prefer."

"Right. So you can tell me how to get out of here and find my friends?" John was not counting on this giving much results, but he had to ask.

"I cannot. Come, you will meet my mother and I will tell you how you are to be honoured beyond all."

_Shit. Honour, that's never good._

The woman, whom John named the Daughter since the Mother seemed to be of importance in his immediate future, took hold of John's hand and pulled him behind her. They went down a few sets of stairs before stopping in front of a largely ornate door.

The woman knocked and the door flew open. John and the Daughter stepped through.

_At least I've always been good with mothers. _


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Obviously, I know nothing of science-type things, so the details of the plan don't make sense, but I figured it wouldn't be the first time something SGA-related didn't make a lick of sense. Forgive and forget, people, forgive and forget!  
**A/N2:** Thank you Angela and Rox for being so awesome and lowering yourself to my level! You should come 'round more often, it's fun!  
**A/N3:** Thanks NenyaVilyaNenya for the hot tip:)

**Chapter the Eight: Fire, Water, Burn**

The scanner bleeped as Rodney ran it over the tubes. He had left the wall examination to Teyla, Ronon and their inorganic counterparts in the hopes that he would be able to coax the technology in here to roll over and beg for him. The provenance of the technology was a bit of a puzzle for Rodney: he had never encountered it before, but its components were straightforward and easily understandable. He was thankful for the intergalactic-exploring genius paraphernalia that allowed him to scan the machines and discover something both promising and deeply disturbing.

"Ah," he said, unable to decide whether he should be alarmed or encouraged.

"Rodney?" Teyla said, moving closer to him, having heard the strange note in his utterance.

Rodney looked up from his scanner at his team-mate. "We were floating in unstable matter. _Highly_ unstable matter. I hope I didn't inhale any because that would be _so_ bad." He shifted, feeling the highly unstable matter in highly uncomfortable places. Had he not been in such a hurry to get dressed, he would have taken the time to wipe down the goo. As it was, he had dressed quickly and was fated to be uncomfortable until their return to Atlantis.

"Unstable?" Ronon asked, abandoning the search for a door to the copies and joining his team-mates.

"Potentially explosive." And all over your leather pants, Rodney thought unkindly. If he had to be uncomfortable, he was glad someone was more uncomfortable than he was. It gave his cold, mean-spirited little heart a jolt of pleasure. Of course, the compassionate part of him that grew from friendship was less thrilled.

"We have explosives?" was Ronon's enthused response.

"We _potentially_ have explosives. I need to finish this scan, then I might be able to find an element that will make it react and blow us out of here." Rodney stopped and took a moment to evaluate the validity of his plan. "I'm going to blow us out of here. It must be exposure to you guys, I was never this insane."

"You have had other," Teyla paused, frowning, before she found the right word, "unconventional ideas before and we are still here."

"Of course we're still here! I'm brilliant, I have brilliant ideas, and they work!" He turned away from Teyla and Ronon and went back to his tablet, seeking the exact breakdown of the gooey matter so as to classify it and find an element that would react with it.

Teyla and Ronon returned to their search for a door, ignoring the constant mumbling and random exclamations coming from Rodney. When another "Ah!" resounded, this one satisfied and final, the team reassembled, Teyla and Ronon knowing what that meant.

Solution.

"All we need to do," Rodney said, not bothering to turn to them but standing facing the tube that had kept him captive, "is get about a gram of that material and mix it with the goo, then step back quickly and protect ourselves however we can." He shook his head. "I can't believe I'm suggesting this."

"Way out, good idea."

"It might be a way out of this plane of existence, too."

"Better than being in there," Ronon argued, pointing at his tubular prison.

Teyla's voice prevented any protestations. "What must we do, Rodney?"

Saved from having to agree with Ronon, Rodney rested his hand on a console. "We have to get some shavings from this metalloid, grind it into a powder, then mix it with the unstable component in the correct proportion and hope we don't all die burned alive or asphyxiated."

"Easy."

Rodney frowned at Ronon. "To you, maybe, but that's because you can't see all the ways in which this can go wrong."

"We die."

"Well, yes, but it would be a painful death, and I'm really not that keen on the whole dying experience."

"We'll get it right, get Sheppard, go home."

"We hope."

"McKay."

"Yes, yes ok," Rodney capitulated, nodding jerkily, "we'll get Sheppard and go home." He went into instruction mode. "Right. I need you to cut a chunk from that machine," he said to Ronon who arched an eyebrow at him.

Rodney made wide circles of his arm, demanding that he proceed. "Get a knife out. Cut."

Ronon turned away slowly, took one of the many knives he carried in his clothes, and started to hack away at the metallic machine. To his surprise, it came away easily in small, glittering ribbons. The metallic shavings spun on themselves and looked like curls of silvery-blackish hair.

"Teyla, I need some of that gooey stuff. Take this," Rodney instructed, holding out his tub of sunscreen, "wipe the sunscreen out and fill it about…" He trailed off, looking at the ribbons Ronon was letting fall to the floor. "Fill it about three-quarters of the way to the top and keep it far away from the metalloid Ronon is cutting from the machine."

Teyla nodded and set to her task. Rodney continued calculating the right proportion, almost confident that his plan had more chances of being life saving than ending.

The copies kept running their hands over the wall, most likely having forgotten what it was they were looking for, simply continuing with the motion. They were on their twenty-seventh circuit of the room when Rodney called out to his team-mates who were sitting on the floor at opposite ends of the room, possibly-explosive material in their hands.

"Ok, ready." Rodney got up and gestured to Teyla. "Put the tub against that wall there and go stand way over there." He turned to Ronon who had ground much of the ribbons into a fine powder through the sheer force of his will and was holding it in his hands. "You, put those on the floor, here," he said, gesturing at his feet.

Ronon did so and was sent to stand with Teyla. They were both unhappy with the arrangement.

"If this is going to explode, I should do it," Ronon said, making a show of brave posturing.

"You've got powder all over you. We have one chance at this; I don't want you blowing up accidentally, instead of the wall. I'm the genius here; I know how these things work. It's a good thing I know everything about everything, otherwise we'd never get out of situations like these!"

Ronon frowned but accepted the pseudo-compliment: McKay did not want him to blow himself up, and that, in Rodney-speak, was flattering.

"Ok, you can do this. Slow and steady, shallow breaths, stay calm," Rodney told himself as he tried to measure the exact quantity of powder he would need to make only a small portion of the room explode and not the entire building. Not that he knew how big the building was, but he only wanted a small section of it blown up, not the part he occupied. He hated guessing games, loved science for his precision, and here he was, guessing how much of one element he needed to create a localised explosive reaction. It was insane, a plan worthy of Sheppard.

"Here we go," he said, when he was certain of his answer. Ninety-nine percent sure of his answer…more confident than not…wishing he'd refused the position on Sheppard's team…wishing he had given the concert pianist dream a try.

He entertained the thought of sending Not-McKay to tip the powder in the unstable matter, hoping he was right in his estimation of the twenty-five seconds reaction time, but didn't really wish to spend an hour explaining it, or see a replica of himself go up with the wall.

"Here we go," he repeated to himself, squaring his shoulders and breathing in deeply. He turned to Teyla and Ronon, who looked at him with confidence in their eyes, and he stepped towards the pot of goo.

Then, a hole formed in the wall under the hands of a surprised Not-Ronon.

Rodney thanked random deities, a bit disappointed that he would not get to exercise his skills as an explosive expert. Despite the tremendous danger, making things explode was an interesting and fulfilling experience, though in a lesser degree when one was doing so with the sole support of educated guesses and hope.

He was shocked to discover it could have worked when Ronon got an itch on his ankle. Powder that had hidden under his fingernails mixed with the goo slowly drying on his leg.

"FIRE!" Rodney yelled, waving his hands and being ineffectually panicky.

Ronon grunted and patted himself down to put out the small, localised spark. He shrugged at Teyla's concerned look and indicated she should resume the walk to find John Sheppard. "Didn't burn," he assured her when she did not seem inclined to believe his manly show of non-verbal stoicism.

"But…fire…" Rodney protested, clearly confused by the almost-crisis that left him with a rush of adrenaline but no outlet.

"Come. He is fine," Teyla said, leading her team-mates and the three copies away from their captivity.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**: Yeah, ok, I know I promised it would make sense...this is as good as it gets!  
Thank you Angela and Rox for following me in insanity. It's always a great trip!

**Chapter the Ninth: Mother**

"John Sheppard," the Daughter said, smiling excitedly, "this is my mother. Mother, this is the man I wish to keep."

_Keep! Damn it! You've done it again, Sheppard!_

The Mother rose from her seat – _throne! _– and approached John with a frozen expression. She looked at him, then at her daughter, then at him, and then at her daughter. The Mother nodded and made a vague gesture, indicating her body, then John, then the surrounding air. It didn't make sense to Sheppard, but the Daughter seemed to understand perfectly.

The Daughter took John's hands between hers and smiled reassuringly. "John Sheppard," she said in the same matter as the first time they had met, softly, quietly, caressingly. "My mother has only just returned from a long and tiring journey. She and her aides cannot sustain this form much longer; they will retake their true form now, please do not be alarmed. As you must know, we mean you nothing but happiness and comfort. Come, sit with me, and I will put all the fears I can see lingering in your beautiful eyes at rest."

_Run! Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuun!_

"Yeah, ok." John let himself be led to a sitting area. This room was quite similar to the room he had woken in, dark wood, blues and greens, but five times the size.

_Moron! Run! She wants to keep you! Run!_

They sat together on a loveseat and waited for the Mother to revert to her natural form. John watched carefully, expecting yellow lights, and he was not disappointed. Contrary to the previous times John had encountered these lights, they did not form a cloud and hurry away. They simply separated into smaller groups and floated away in tranquility. One light remained, coming closer, buzzing around John's head with a sound he recognised and finally he knew what they were. He turned to the woman sitting beside him and tried to find a way to voice his thoughts without offending her or her mother.

"You guys are glowy bugs?"

_Nice going there, Mr. Manners._

"I assume you have a name?"

_Smooth save. _

John was so sick of the voice in his head. Why is it that it sounded like Rodney whenever he screwed up! Did it have to be so sneering and superior! It was _his _head! It shouldn't be so annoying!

"We are the Ketreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," the woman answered, grimacing from the effort to hold the strident sound of her people's name.

John tried very hard not to wince. "Ok. We've met before, right?"

"Yes, we have. I have come to know you very well, John Sheppard. You saved me."

"I did?" John looked into the woman's shining eyes and let himself be touched. Her hand settled on his cheek and he let it happen, completely ignoring his brain.

_Ruuuuuuuuuuuun! Are you crazy! Don't get cozy with her! She's an alien! She's an alien who kidnapped you and possibly has. Your. TEAM!_

"You did. It was some time ago. I was taken by my mother's rival to a deserted planet on the other side of our galaxy. I had thought never to see my home again until you came! I hid with you as you courageously defeated my keepers by drawing them to the Wraith with what I now know is a powerbar. I hid within your clothing." She reached out and fondly stroked the belt hoop of John's pants. "You took me to your home, and I stayed with you. I hid away, and you brought me to many worlds. I lived through difficult times with you, John Sheppard, hoping, always hoping you would someday bring me to my home. After some time, I hoped you would not. I had accepted the new life I led, I even came to cherish it – cherish you."

John sat and listened, thinking through the information and – he was certain – slowly going insane. This woman wasn't a woman, this much he could handle. She was a glowy bug: weird, but he'd seen weirder. The fact that she seemed to have been living in his clothes for the last year or two, and had apparently fallen in love with him, or something to that effect, was a bit more than what John Sheppard was ready to handle.

It was flattering but creepy.

_Really creepy._

"When you visited one of my people's colonies, I knew I had to go, to leave you." The woman rose to her feet and went to stand by her mother who was buzzing over their heads. She reached out and followed her mother with a gentle hand that cupped the air around the small, yellow light. "I couldn't forget you, John Sheppard. We have lived together through so many adventures – some good, some bad. You are a wonderful man. You are courageous and kind, strong and caring. Funny, intelligent and charming. You are the most adorable being I have ever encountered. I watched you from the pillow as you fell asleep after a hard day, or from the hinges of the door as you attempted to rule your wild hair. I have seen you happy, I have seen you sad, and I want to see more." She released her mother from the cradle of her hand and returned to the loveseat, now cradling John's hands between hers.

"I cannot let you go. Please, will you stay? You have seen the shelter we had built for you. It is pleasing?"

John nodded, numbed by the discovery that he had been under surveillance every minute of every day. This woman, thing, bug knew everything about him. She had seen everything; she knew his secrets and the secrets of those he loved. In a short moment John relived the major events that had occurred in the last three years. He saw all the moments that had marked him, all the people he had lost, and those he had not. She had been there; she had seen them too. It angered him.

"No."

She recoiled, as if Sheppard had slapped her. "No? You do not find it pleasing? We can have another built for you."

Sheppard shook his head. "No, I won't stay here. You spied on me. You could have shown yourself, told me you were there. We would have returned you to your planet."

"I could not communicate with you. One is not enough to sustain this form. I am able to be like this, like you for so long because most of my people have agreed to help. They are here," she said, indicating her body," with me, so that I may have this chance to communicate with you and ask you to stay. I love you, John Sheppard, like I have never loved another before. You will have whatever your heart may desire if you stay. Please. Please, say you will stay, say that you will let yourself love me."

Her words brought back the team and their song to the forefront of John's mind. He had been in control of his anger, the sense of having been duped, used, of his privacy having been a mere mirage easily dismissed. The vision of his team, lying on the ground with their faces open was enough to shatter the barrier he had raised. Anger came, washed over him and froze him. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clicked and he became John Sheppard: Cold Bastard Who Will Shoot You Where You Stand.

_No weapons. Strangulation might be possible but not desirable. Just go, get your team and go. Avoid violence, but be ready for it. _

His brain was no longer irritating. It was cold and analytic. This woman no longer moved him; John Sheppard was disgusted, all curiosity and pity he might have felt were gone. "Where are my friends?"

"They are safe. Please, John, please, do not leave. You are safe here, you are all safe. You can see them, if you wish."

"Where. Are. They? I saw copies, I want the real ones"

"They are safe. The process does not hurt them! It is simply a replication, and does not take from them, just as it did not take from you."

"Me? You made copies of me!"

"We had no choice! I would not have been able to keep you! They needed one of you as well, you had to return to Atlantis, or they would have come back."

Sheppard's mind was working overtime to understand what had happened. Memories unlocked as the woman spoke and images tumbled, pushing against each other, fighting for supremacy. John remembered walking companionably beside Ronon towards the gate, then nothing. Blank, black. "You stunned me," he coldly accused.

"It was not I. Our defence postings recognised you when you visited another of our colonies. They momentarily stopped you and your people. Your people were safe; they never knew you were not the same. I believe my aide, Ghaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeee, was drained of his energy and became confused, that is how your people recognised the copy for what it was."

"What? You sent one of your people in a copy of me to Atlantis?"

"Yes, we had to assure the continued flow of energy to sustain your likeness and your personality imprint could only be transferred to one of us."

"He's imprinted with my personality."

"Yes, and he seems to have failed in his duties, for the exchange of information ceased, and your people came for you."

_Team. Find the team and go._

"Where are they?" John asked with steel in his tone. He had been taken in with the woman's explanation, trying to understand what had occurred, why he was here, but as he returned his focus on finding his team, curiosity retreated.

The woman opened her mouth to answer, obviously close to tears, her face pleading, her hands reaching out, but a loud sound and trembling John felt rising from the floor interrupted her.

"Never mind, I found them," John said, running to the door and what he hoped was the destructive prowess of his team. He stopped, annoyed by his need to know, to have the answer to this last question. He turned to the woman who had run after him. She smiled, as if believing he had changed his mind and would not go to his team and get as far away from this place as possible. "What's with the singing?"

She frowned as if contemplating her answer. "You played these songs and it seemed to comfort you. I thought it would put you at ease."

Grandiose music from the stage normally soothed John Sheppard, remains of a long-gone childhood. It angered him that this stranger knew of that secret part of his life.

As he ran out of the room he thought of his mother, singing with abandon under the adoring gaze of her only son.

_I always said your musicals were dangerous, mom. _


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I really, really don't know. It just...happened. **  
**

**Chapter the Tenth: Reunited (and it feels so good)**

"Oh my God! How many did they make!"

"Rodney. This way!"

Rodney was still staring at the barrage of Not-Them's that stood in their way as Teyla pulled him through a door, away from the corridor of atrocities.

"Seriously, how many? Two dozens at least and that's just those we've encountered so far!" Rodney continued his monologue as they hid from the mob of themselves that grew as they ran. Rodney wasn't quite certain of the reason they had chosen to run away from them, but when Ronon said "Shut up and follow me," it was wise for one to _shut up and follow him. _

"McKay, shut up," Ronon said, glaring.

At the clear "do as I say if you want to live" warning in Ronon's voice, Rodney stopped speaking and allowed the Super-Hearing Giant to listen. After all, Rodney could very well fidget and panic silently for a short time.

He fidgeted with abandon until Teyla rested a hand on his thrumming fingers and her freaky calming powers transferred slowly to him. Her actions had the benefit of forcing Rodney to wonder about his team, and how they were all a bit weird, in their own way, with the strength, the hearing, the fighting, the meditative calm aura and the overactive mojo and gravity-defying hair. And eyebrows! They all had gravity-defying eyebrows! What was that about? Was it a warrior thing? Shooting, fighting, eyebrow-thing?

"Come, my child," Rodney mumbled quietly, "you are now ready to learn the strength of your facial hair. It will serve you well, I trust."

Ronon turned his head slightly at that, and gave Rodney – what else – the eyebrow. That one, Rodney had learned, meant, "Earthling, you are strange to me," and it fell in nicely with the meandering of his mind, and settled it: Team Sheppard, Designation SGA-1, First Contact and Life-Endangering Pursuits was full of freaks.

"They ran past," Ronon said after a few more minutes of silence. He carefully opened the door, weapon up and ready, and peered into the hall. "Clear," he said before opening it fully.

**-OOOOO-**

They had been climbing steps for much longer than Rodney thought healthy when they heard it: the rumble of many feet hitting the ground serving as bass to what sounded like a choir.

The team froze and stood in the middle of a staircase, silenced once more. Ronon listened intently before turning around. "Better get out of the way, it's coming down."

"_What_ is coming down?"

"Don't know, but you can stay here if you want to find out."

"Going down, then," Rodney confirmed turning around and going back down the stairs he had just climbed because his life was just that miserably unfair. He was roughly shoved aside by Ronon who took the lead, letting Teyla close the march, effectively boxing Rodney in between the railing, the wall and his team-mates. Their speed progressively hastened as the sound rose in volume.

When they reached the end of the staircase, they were forced to cross the corridor to engage in the other staircase. It was a long, ill-lit space, bordered by large, ornate doors similar to those they had passed while running away from the mob of Not-Them's. They were on familiar territory but no closer to finding John Sheppard, a fact that aggravated Rodney to no end.

"So, are we just going home? How are we going to find Sheppard if we're running from some kind of choir stampede?"

"We lose the choir then find Sheppard."

"Yeah, sure, that'll work just fine," Rodney scoffed.

"We will find him, Rodney. We have not lost him yet."

"_Yet_ being the imperative word."

"We will find –" Teyla began to repeat, only to be interrupted.

"RODNEY!"

John Sheppard's cry came from a doorway a few metres back and to the left. Ronon, Teyla and Rodney froze and turned to see John running toward them, his arms wide open, smiling brilliantly through his tears.

"— him," Teyla concluded slowly.

"Rodney. Rodney. Rodney. Rodney," he said, throwing himself at the scientist and snuggling up as close as he could get, arms firmly locked around Rodney's torso, face pressed against warm, sweaty, goo-scented skin. "Rodney," he sighed before falling silent, breathing in deeply and seemingly attempting to hide himself within the bulk of Rodney's body.

"Not-Sheppard," Rodney grumped, refusing to return the hug, but not fighting as hard as he ought to get himself free of the robot he seemed to have adopted. He looked at Ronon and Teyla. "A little help here. There's touching again. A lot of touching."

Ronon and Teyla looked at the men locked in a one-sided hug, on the verge of releasing a drawn-out and tender "aaaaaaaaw."

"Get it off. Get it off. Get it off," Rodney insisted, sensing that his soft-spot was starting to show. "Touching." He struggled harder against the tight grip.

"No, Rodney, no," Not-Sheppard pleaded softly, holding on with a fiercer grip and pushing his face further in the crook of Rodney's neck and shoulder. "I found you," he declared, squeezing hard enough to crack ribs. "I found you. You can't go."

"Ok, ok, fine. I won't go, but we all need to go because there's something coming. We can't be here when it shows up so a. Little. Help. _Please_," he concluded, spitting the last few words in the direction of his unhelpful friends.

Ronon came forward and gripped Not-Sheppard's collar. He pulled, anchoring himself, readying for a tug-of-war.

Not-Sheppard strengthened his hold. "No. No. Rodney! NO!" He grew frantic and his fingers dug in the tender skin of Rodney's back.

"Ow. Ow. Ow. You're hurting me! Let go, let go!"

"No, Rodney," Not-Sheppard said in a tremulous voice. He sniffled pathetically.

"Don't snot on me! Get off!"

"Let go or I'll shoot," Ronon threatened as the musical beast came closer.

"Not-Sheppard, we must run. Please, take hold of Rodney's hand and run." Teyla had come closer and had laid a gentle hand on Not-Sheppard's shoulder. "Please, we will all be in danger if you do not let Rodney go."

"We run?" Not-Sheppard asked, looking at Rodney with wide, trusting, tear-filled eyes.

Sighing, Rodney held out a hand as best as he could while enfolded in the circle of Not-Sheppard's arms. "We run. Come on."

Not-Sheppard took the offered hand and did as he was told.

"SLOW DOWN!" Rodney shouted as Not-Sheppard took off as if he were at a track meet.

"We ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun," Not-Sheppard whooped, leading the way. He was soon overtaken by Ronon, and Teyla followed closely, weapons at the ready despite the speed at which the quartet moved.

In a corridor three levels lower they found another series of doors. Ronon made the decision to hide rather than keep running, knowing they could not escape to the jumper: they still had to locate John Sheppard. The sound was coming closer and they would not outrun it for much longer. Without warning, he froze and grabbed Not-Sheppard to stop his and Rodney's progress. Rodney was jerked back by Not-Sheppard's hand holding on to him and fell to the ground. He did not complain, only lay on his back and tried to catch his breath.

With a meaningful look at Teyla, Ronon inched the chosen door open and peered inside. Deciding it was safe, he gestured to Not-Sheppard to proceed.

"Come," Not-Sheppard said softly to Rodney, pulling on his hand.

With a groan, Rodney was on his feet and through the door. They once again were made to wait silently, putting Rodney in the difficult position of being cuddled by an eager Not-Sheppard while deprived of any means to fight it. He glared but as Not-Sheppard's head was once more glued to Rodney's shoulder it had very little impact.

"So this is our plan? We hide from Not-Us?"

Ronon's glare was a lot more effective. The terrible rumble came closer and closer and eventually the song was revealed to have words and not only melody. Voices melded, rose and fell to create one rich love song. The fall of steps was no longer a run, but a timed movement, each foot falling on the same beat, as if in a choreographed dance.

"Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime; let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me with you, here beside you, anywhere you go, let me go too, that's all I ask of you."

Once the sound had receded, from their ears if not from their minds, Ronon peered out in a replay of their earlier adventure and nodded the way clear for them to exit.

Rodney was once more pulled by Not-Sheppard who, now that there was no need to run, had snaked an arm around Rodney's waist and was attempting to make himself one with Rodney's side.

"Get off! What's wrong with you? You're Sheppard's copy, why haven't you glued yourself to Teyla! Sheppard drapes himself over pretty women, not me!"

"Rodney," Not-Sheppard cooed.

The sound of a door opening had Ronon stopping and spinning around, gun lifted. The door opened further, slowly. He signalled for McKay to get back and for Teyla to go forward. Being in charge was much easier than Sheppard made it seem.

Sensing the danger, Not-Sheppard pushed Rodney against the wall and plastered himself against Rodney's body, sheltering him.

The door opened enough to allow a mess of dark hair to peak through. Ronon's tension eased minutely at the familiar head, but as it still had the potential to be the wrong one, he and Teyla held it in their weapon's sight.

"Hey guys," Sheppard said, stepping out with a relieved look upon his face, and a small, happy smile upon his lips. Seeing the weapons did not lower, he stopped walking forward and raised his hands. "Guys?"

"Sheppard, that you?"

"Yeah."

"Ask him a question," Rodney demanded from behind Not-Sheppard. This served to draw Sheppard's attention to his doppelganger, and his lower lip and hands dropped towards the floor. It took John but a second to regain his wit, for he had seen many strange things in the course of his stay in Music Hall and he was beyond his allowed quota of shock.

"Hey Rodney. Something you want to tell me?" Sheppard asked, raising an enquiring eyebrow.

"It's not what you think!" Rodney quickly answered, before wincing at the inanity of the response.

Not-Sheppard cuddled closer and sighed contentedly, imminent danger forgotten in the face of his joyful, Rodney-filled world.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** I could say that real life got busy, that the Muses refused to cooperate and John refused to play, but since it doesn't make this horrendous delay any shorter I'll just apologise – sorry – and post.

**Chapter the Eleventh: Stuck in the Middle with You**

John stood in the middle of the corridor, held at gunpoint by two of his team-mates while another was…was…

_Being molested by you._

He ignored his disgustingly accurate brain. "It's not what I think? I didn't know we had that kind of relationship, McKay."

"We don't!"

The annoyance in McKay's voice eased John's mind from the panic it seemed to want to induce.

_There's another you! He's touching Rodney McKay_ _in inappropriate ways! Wrong! Wrong! Avert your eyes from the horror!_

"Can you guys lower your weapons?" Sheppard asked, slowly leaving freaked-out territory for the safer annoyed lands.

"I believe this is the real John Sheppard," Teyla sagely told Ronon.

They both lowered their weapons, only to raise them an instant later. "It's coming back," Ronon said, looking over John's shoulder.

John could feel the rumble in the floor under his feet, and hear the song the mob of replicas had intoned upon seeing him exit the Mother's room. The noise he had thought to be his havoc-wreaking team had been dozens upon dozens of copies of his team running up the stairs. The moment they had laid eyes on John, they had frozen, opened their arms and launched into a heartfelt musical declaration.

John had run. He had run, then he had hidden, then he had found his real team. Now, his fake teams were coming back and, from the sounds of it, they had picked up a few more members.

That song was _loud._

"Perhaps it would be wise to run."

"You came by jumper?"

"Yes."

"Then yeah, we should run."

"We should run, we should definitely run. Right now."

"Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun!" Not-Sheppard concluded. All in agreement with the plan, they ran.

Not-Sheppard led the way, holding Rodney's hand and pulling him at a speed the scientist found disagreeable.

"Slow down! You're going to kill me!"

Ronon took the lead, easily overtaking Not-Sheppard and his charge. "Hurry up, they'll get you."

Rodney chanced a quick look behind and saw Teyla, followed by Sheppard, followed by what looked to be more than a hundred Not-Thems, their arms open, stepping on the same beat and singing loudly.

"Faster! Faster!"

John Sheppard didn't chance a look behind, though he did see the panic develop further on Rodney's face. Not that it was a reliable barometer of how much trouble they really were, panic being a McKay default setting.

"Eyes forward when you run, McKay," John shouted, happy to reprise his role as team leader, to instruct and assist and guide those of lesser tactical ability than he. If his ordering McKay around also served to reassure the man, that he, John Sheppard, was closing the ranks and he would protect those that preceded him, that was just a side-effect of the primary ordering around function.

Though it made John inexplicably pompous, it felt great to be back on familiar territory. The unknown, alien worlds and alien ladies who wanted to woo him were nothing to worry about as long as Sheppard had his team. Plus one: that him that wasn't him.

John was denied the time to ponder this disturbing development as the Daughter and her backup singers appeared at the end of the corridor, standing with their arms crossed, seemingly intending to stop Sheppard's team from escaping.

_Clones to the left of me, stalkers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you. _

"Are you humming!?"

"What?"

"You are! You're humming! What happened to you? Why are you humming?"

"I was not humming. Shut up," John nearly pleaded as the Daughter came to stand before him.

"You cannot leave, John. I love you."

John felt the heat spread across his face and he hoped he was not really blushing like a schoolboy.

"I love you, John Sheppard," the Daughter said, coming forward. "I will do anything to please you." She ignored the weapons pointed at her and the protective stance the team had taken and went straight for John.

"Again! What _is_ it with you?" Rodney exclaimed.

Sheppard frowned at Rodney, then at Teyla and Ronon who seemed too close to amusement for his comfort, but a caressing hand upon his face brought his attention back to the woman.

_Run! Run! You know what she wants! Keep running!_

"Please, do not leave me. Please."

"I…it's not you. It's me, I have…"

Rodney's arms went flying again. "Is this what you do? This is your answer? Come on, you're Kirk; let her down gently, but suavely. You're supposed to be smooth!"

"I am not Kirk, and McKay? Shut up."

"I don't see why I should if all you're going to do is stutter through an "it's not you it's me" speech. Listen," Rodney said, putting on his approximation of a sincere expression, "it's not that you're not very attractive, nice and I'm sure intelligent enough for him, but he has other priorities. If you really want him, you can have this one." He attempted to dislodge Not-Sheppard from his side and push him toward the woman, but Not-Sheppard fought fiercely.

"No, Rodney. I found you."

"Yes, yes, you found me, but now you've found a woman. Woman. I told you already, that's the type of people you should be hugging."

"No, you."

"No. _Women_."

"McKay, you don't shut up, Ronon'll shut you up."

Ronon took an eager step toward Rodney. John turned his attention back to the woman. "This is a really nice place, but it's not my home." He thought back to what she had told him earlier. "You wanted to come back to your home, right? I want that too. I want to go back to my home."

"This can be your home. You will have all your desire."

"I have all that at home."

"I will return with you," the woman said. "There will be no need for you to acknowledge my presence. I will hide, just as I did for so many months."

"My leader wouldn't allow it."

The woman smiled coyly. "There would be no need to inform anyone."

This was as much as Rodney could handle. "Ok. You want a Sheppard, you can have the copy. You can't have the original."

"Yeah," Ronon said, raising his weapon. "He's ours."

"Guys," Sheppard cautioned, conscious of the many replicas of his team-members standing a few steps behind.

"It's not like she _knows_ you, Sheppard. You're just eye-candy, and Not-Sheppard looks just like you."

The woman pivoted sharply. "But I do know him, Doctor McKay. I know him, I know you. I know Ronon Dex and Teyla Emmagan. Radek Zelenka. Evan Lorne. Elizabeth Weir. Carson Beckett. I know many more. I know all about John Sheppard, and his people."

Rarely had John had the chance to see this particular look on McKay: the slack-jawed expression of incomprehension.

"I know him better than any of you ever could. He is mine. You CANNOT HAVE HIM."

_Shit. I told you to run._

Letting out a high-pitched scream, the woman returned to her natural shape. The replicas fell to the floor with heavy thumps as their glowy bug operators left them. Not-Sheppard fell against Rodney who, surprisingly, did not step back. He let out a startled, "Oh," and carefully guided Not-Sheppard's frame to the floor. Not-Sheppard's face opened and a small, yellow light escaped. It fluttered an inch from Rodney's face before disappearing within the confines of his vest.

"Hey!" Rodney protested. He made to remove his vest, but a hand was on his arm, fingers digging painfully in the tender flesh of his biceps. Ronon propelled him forward and only let go when McKay was running under his own power.

"Someone call the jumper! We need emergency pick up!" John yelled above the roaring sound of thousands of hovering glowy bugs.

"Jumper! Jumper! Jumper" Rodney yelled into his radio.

"We've got you on the HUD, Doctor McKay, but you're in the mountain."

"I know I'm in the mountain!" Rodney answered snidely.

"You'll have to get out before we can pick you up."

"Thank you _so_ much for your help, Captain Obvious! You are officially re-christened! I'll throw you off the South Pier to make it official!"

"McKay! Don't anger the nice marines who are supposed to save our asses!"

"This way," Ronon added to the conversation, in a calm and composed manner. He was not out of breath, was not ruffled in the least as he led them all to the open air with his unbelievably reliable instincts and sense of spatial orientation.

As they burst out of the mountain and the massive estate, John took a millisecond to be amazed at how lucky they all were to have gotten out of this one so easily. The next millisecond was occupied with a sense of vertigo as he was lifted in the air and carried away by a cloud of yellow lights.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH," shrieked Rodney. "Not again," he screamed in frustration once the moments of terror had passed.

"Again," John asked, observing his team-mates. Teyla was quietly resigned to his left, Ronon was struggling fiercely to his right, and McKay was grumpy in front. To John's great pleasure, the jumper appeared behind Rodney. To his great displeasure, the cloud of glowy bugs shifted and grew thicker between the jumper and the team.

"So. What now?" Sheppard asked the panel, only to receive disbelieving looks in return.

"This rescue business isn't working out for us," McKay said, dejectedly.

Teyla nodded. "I suggest we allow Major Lorne's team to lead rescues in the future. He has had many opportunities to refine his skills."

"Every time we try to rescue someone, we get into deeper trouble."

"But we get out of it," Ronon said between two kicks.

"There's that," McKay answered in the same tone he used the few times he had to concede a point. John believed he had last heard that tone in the mess hall. McKay had been bemoaning the lack of real maple syrup for his waffles, and Teyla had kindly pointed out that at least there were waffles to be had. John realised that this conversation, though it took place while they were carried off to the unknown – again – was no less different than the one that had taken place over breakfast. He realised that the weird, alien-filled part of his life had become just as normal as mealtime. Different circumstances, some more dangerous than others, but always the same people and very similar discussions.

Looking at his friends, John saw that they were as always, relatively unchanged despite the adventures and the nonsense: one waited patiently for what would come, the other prematurely fought what would come, and the last bemoaned what had and what would come. Because the scene was so normal despite its evident abnormality, John laughed his true, loud, braying laugh.

Then he, along with Rodney, Teyla and Ronon, plummeted to the ground.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter the Twelfth: Falling for the First Time**

Yes, they were in trouble.

Yes, the denouement of this adventure was likely to involve pain.

Yes, perhaps death hid in the near future.

It did not seem to matter to John's brain.

_This is so damn cool. _

The air went past Sheppard's head with a high-pitched whistle as he and his team plunged through it and towards the ground. It was terrifying, but freeing and pleasant all the same.

The wind hurtling around him, the force pulling him to the planet, the blue then green then blue then green that filled his vision as he tumbled through the air were intoxicating.

A hand gripped his collar and pulled.

"We're screwed," Rodney shouted right into John's ear.

John turned and gripped Rodney's vest in return, and his almost-forgotten injured shoulder clamoured for attention.

"It's gonna be ok," John said, staring into wide blue eyes.

"No, it's not!"

"Hey," Ronon said, reaching John and Rodney's position and attaching himself to Rodney's vest. Teyla followed, guided by Ronon's hand, and she held on to the back of Rodney's vest and John's collar.

Nestled against his team, the wind surrounding them, the ground calling to them through the strength of the planet's core, John smiled.

"He's insane! What're we going to–"

"Rodney. We'll be fine."

"We're HURTLING TO THE GROUND!"

"Actually –" was all John managed to say before he slammed against salvation.

They all groaned as the unyielding metal of the jumper's hatch connected with various parts of their bodies.

"We're…hurtling to the…jumper." John completed, letting his head rest against Rodney's arm. "Nice flying," he added when boots came into view.

"He's getting better," Klein answered. "Are you ok, sir?"

"Get me to…Beckett…and I…will be," answered John, breathlessly.

"Got the wind knocked out of you?"

Rodney stretched the arm that had miraculously not been damaged during this latest crisis and smacked Captain Klein's leg. Attention captured, he pointed and glowered menacingly.

"Doctor McKay?"

"Don't…speak. Ever."

The jumper was filled with the sound of barely restrained snorts and snickers. That is until the yellow cloud swarmed and entered through the small closing gap of the hatch. Then the jumper was filled with shouts, curses and glowy bugs.

Amidst the turmoil, the Mother re-formed. "John Sheppard," she said, bending over the man, sneering openly at him. "You are a fraud!"

John frowned.

"You are beautiful, smart, charming, just as my daughter described. You are a good man, I am sure, but…" She sighed. "You are cursed!"

"I don't think –"

"How do you manage to hide it? How has she not seen this before! I am humiliated!"

"What are you –"

"She could not have known! She would not have exposed her own Mother to such filth! Cursed atrocity!"

"What's she…talkin'…'bout?" Rodney whispered, still too out of breath to string more than two or three words together.

"I don't know. I figure she thinks I'm cursed."

"Good…go home."

John nodded his head to Rodney's relieved utterance. It was then that the woman re-formed and confronted her Mother, who was still muttering to herself.

"Mother! You must not say such things!"

The Mother turned towards her Daughter, visibly readying herself for a battle: shoulders back, head held high and a pointing finger held intimidatingly high. "I must say such things!"

"But Mother," the woman whined.

"Did you know of this!" the Mother screamed shrilly.

The woman lowered her eyes and remained silently still.

"You _knew _of this! You knew he was cursed and you attempted to…to…to trick me into accepting him!"

"I did not trick you!"

"You certainly tried! He is cursed, my child," the Mother said, tenderly, anger diffused by the pain visible on her precious baby's face. "His joy is tainted, he cannot be among us, you know."

"It is hardly a taint, the curse has very little hold on him. It is only through sound that you would recognise the work of –"

"Once cursed, always a cursed."

"What's cursed?" John finally got the chance to ask for clarification.

The woman turned a sad smile to John and came closer to stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. "You are. I do not understand how you could become so, but I believe my salvation will also be my doom. It can only be then that you were tainted. You had not encountered my people before, nor after you rescued me. Unless it was done while you were here."

"The taint is a lengthy process, love."

"But he could have –"

"He would not show signs. I am sorry," the Mother said, pulling her daughter away from John and holding her closely.

"But we could…you could! Mother!"

"No, I am sorry. I cannot help him and he cannot remain. The cursed must leave."

"What's cursed?" John asked again, enunciating clearly.

The woman did not answer, but stepped away from her Mother's embrace "It is just the sound, Mother; he does not look or act as the cursed do. We could help him."

"That wretched sound is enough. As if the Kralik were crying out in terrible pain. We all heard it, and it is a sign.

"I understand, Mother, but I cannot –"

"Enough, child. You cannot abandon your people for the cursed. Say your goodbyes and let us return home, and allow them to leave our land." The Mother returned to light.

The Daughter turned to John misery etched upon her face, and reached for his hand. "I will miss you, John Sheppard. I ache as I say these words, for I cannot bear it…I must…Please, take me with you. It does not matter to me that you are cursed, that your joy is tainted and unreal."

"I don't understand why you think I'm cursed."

"Your joy is ugly, John. The sounds of your happiness are tainted; the Kralik cries are a sign. Please, it does not matter to me. I knew – have known for quite some time, but…I would have lied to my mother, to my people, for you. Hidden the truth, protected you from them, but now it cannot be. Please, take me with you; I could not bear to be away from you. To live my life knowing I would never encounter you again, gaze upon this most beautiful face."

"I can't," John replied, feeling a little of the woman's misery seep into him. He hated to be the cause of such pain, to be responsible for the tears that trailed down a woman's cheek. The fact that she was not really a woman did not lessen the guilt he felt.

"Please, John, please. Do not cast me out; do not condemn me to a life of lonely misery. John. I love you, I love you so."

"You should stay with your people."

"The world, my life, _I_ have no meaning without you."

"That's not true. You have –"

"I have _nothing_! John Sheppard, please, John."

She pleaded with him even as the yellow cloud engulfed her. She pleaded tearfully until she was forced to regain her true form to get through the small opening that remained. Once the jumper was empty of glowy bugs – save one who had remained hidden, comfortably nestled in the center of Rodney's palm – the pilot closed the hatch and fled towards the gate. All was quiet and not-yellow in the jumper, and Teyla and Ronon looked at each other smiling widely.

"What?" John asked, annoyed and shaken by such a display of emotionality.

"The Kralik are an animal found on many planets we have visited. You have likened it to a horse. Its cry is…unpleasant. Loud and brash."

Rodney snorted. "It's the horse that sounds like a donkey." He snorted again. "She heard your joy and it's tainted. I can accurately say that you laugh like an ass."

"Hey!"

"It's true! You just got dumped for sounding like those horse-things. They just said you were cursed! They had us surrounded. You laughed. They dropped us. Logical conclusion is the laugh was the cause of this sudden drop, and you're cursed because of that."

John was silent while he processed the new information. He took a deep breath and sat up. "No offence to you guys," he finally said, looking at Ronon and Teyla, "but this galaxy is full of freaks. I do _not_ laugh like an ass. Now, will somebody please take us home." John moved slowly to a bench and settled there, quietly waiting for the good meds that were sure to come. He rested his head back, closed his eyes and sighted quietly. He was so bad with women; it always ended in a mess.

_Man, you are an ass. And you do laugh like one, deal with it. _


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: At last, the end! I am so sorry for the obscene amount of time I took to complete this tale.

**Chapter the Thirteenth: Me and my Gang**

"And then they left the jumper and we returned," Rodney finished gleefully, putting an end to his more than lengthy retelling of _The Alien Woman Who Dumped Too-Hot-To-Trot Sheppard_.

Slouching further into his grump - crossed arms, somehow-managing-to be-pouty-posture - John returned sharply, "That's not what happened!"

"Pardon me, Colonel," Rodney returned, his glee rising to vertiginous heights, "but that is exactly what happened! Do you deny that she had designs on your person?"

John opened his mouth, but Rodney drew faster. The fastest mouth in the galaxy, ladies and gentlemen, thought John, not even trying to appear as if he were listening to Rodney's fable-weaving.

"You can't deny it." Rodney brought his linked hands up to his chest, batted his eyelashes unfetchingly, and said in a high voice, "I love you John Sheppard. Please take me with you." He sniggered, much too happy – John would put a stop to that shortly. John would like to do something about Teyla and Ronon's less than supportive amusement, but they were much harder to intimidate.

Elizabeth, clearly trying to repress a smile, put a stop to the mockery. "Alright, alright. I think I understand, Rodney, thank you." She turned to John. "I assume everything was in order when you left? She hasn't returned with you, has she?"

John forced his eyes not to stray to Rodney, whose hand had slipped below the table to, surely, press against the pocket of his pants. "Nope. We're all clear of glowy-bugs."

"Good. Then I think we're done here. I'll expect your reports this week." Elizabeth rose, smiling slightly, and they all followed her out of the room.

John hurried to catch up with Rodney who was heading to the transporter. "McKay," John said, allowing a hint of threat to come out with the word.

Rodney turned towards him and the face that had been mocking a minute before wore what John recognised as gratitude.

Frowning in what he hoped a dangerous manner, John said, "I won't tell if you don't. You talk about this to anyone – anyone – and I rat you out. Got it? Just watch it closely."

"Yeah – I – yeah. Ok. Deal," Rodney agreed, extending his hand for a deal-closing shake.

John ignored the hand and clasped Rodney's shoulder before taking the transporter and disappearing, satisfied by Rodney's squawk that slipped through the door before he was made immaterial. Once John was himself again, he gave a thought to the strangeness of having a glowy bug that had previously occupied a replica of his body become Rodney's…what? Pet? Well, John thought, entering his quarters, maybe it'll be the end of the occasional maudlin cat-reminiscing. There was only so much of that John was prepared to suffer in the name of friendship.

Rodney grumbled as he exited the transporter, his steps following a trajectory similar to John's. He entered his own quarters and drew his hand out of his pocket. The bright light danced away from his palm and around his head. It seemed to gleam brighter for a moment then dim. The quiet noise the bugs had made the first time they had been encountered seemed to carry a brighter, higher note as Rodney watched it flutter around his quarters, watched it gleam over furniture and personal effects.

Rodney sat on his bed and let the pleasure of returning to his room, his sanctuary, seep into him. He yawned loudly and lengthily and coughed when air went through the wrong pipe. He continued to cough for a few minutes, but his throat eventually returned to normal and the coughing abated. Then, once he thought he was safe and able to give himself a few minutes to laze on his bed before hitting the lab, Rodney opened his mouth and out came a sound that horrified him.

"The hiiiiiiills are alive with the souuuuuuuuuuuund of music." He closed his mouth and stood shock still. Then, frighteningly, of its own accord, Rodney's mouth opened once more and out came his loud tenor. The notes boomed in the small room he occupied, clear and rich.

The door to Rodney's quarters opened and John erupted into the room, eyes worried and eyebrows staging an invasion of his hairline. Rodney whimpered, forcing his lips together with his fingers.

"Rodney?" John asked, coming closer to the bed and looking intently at his friend.

Rodney shook his head. He held up his free hand and silently asked for a minute. He sternly told his brain to gain control of his wayward peripherals; he told his mouth to obey, or there would be no lip-balm in its future. Rodney would suffer chapped lips, yes he would, so mouth had better listen and listen good. He slowly unclamped his fingers from his lips and blew out the breath he had been holding when he remained silent. Rodney turned to John, who had blown out a breath in tandem with his scientist friend, and smiled, relieved.

"The hiiiills fill my heaaaaaaaaaaaaart wi-" Rodney cut himself off with two hands over his mouth.

"Ok, we're going to see Carson."

Rodney shook his head and frowned deeply.

"Don't give me the Death Glare, it isn't going to work. Something's wrong."

Rodney's glare grew fiercer.

"Carson?" John stepped back to avoid the kick. Rodney's foot connected with Sheppard-scented air.

"Colonel," Carson answered by way of radio.

"I'm bringing Rodney in. Something's wrong."

"Care to elaborate?"

"He's singing," John elaborated, moving away from Rodney's vengeful feet.

"Singing?"

"Singing. Lalala, singing."

"Right. That…could mean anything. What happened on the mission?"

"I can tell you once we get to the infirmary."

"No! No, don't you move. I'll be right there. If it's contagious I can't have him traipsing around the city."

"Contagious," John repeated, stepping back from Rodney who had stilled and was watching John with the wide eyes of budding panic. John tried to smile; Rodney saw a worried grimace.

"I'll be right there," Carson concluded, turning off his radio and moving to the fetching rubber suits that would protect him from whatever emanations possibly coming from Rodney. He instructed his team to assemble equipment then contacted Elizabeth.

In Rodney's room, both men were sitting side by side on the bed as John attempted to see if Rodney was Rodney or a weird clone-thing. He could not devise a way to do that without talking to the man, so he settled for detailing any physical differences he could find. It was only when he reached for the hem of Rodney's left pant-leg that the subject of the examination complained.

John did not see the kick coming, and as he was bending forward to see if Rodney's calf sported the falling-down-on-M6R417 scar he got the foot right on the nose.

"Ow!" He glared at Rodney who glared right back. They were at a glare stalemate when Carson entered the room.

"Give it a rest, you two," the doctor impatiently demanded, moving John aside and frowning when the man hissed and brought a hand up to his shoulder. "Forgot to tell me something during your exam, Colonel?" Carson's frown deepened as he turned away from a difficult patient to face another. "Now, Rodney. What's happened?"

Rodney glared at Carson.

"He sang," John helpfully supplied.

"Before that? On the mission?"

"Glowy bugs sang," John said quietly, as if disclosing a great and terrible secret.

Carson straightened from bending over to examine Rodney's pupils and turned to John. Both men stood closely, in a position conducive to sharing confidences. "What sang?" Carson asked in a low tone of voice, knowing Colonel Sheppard did not make a habit of being secretive.

"Glowy bugs. He brought one with him."

"Oh for goodness' sake! Rodney!"

Rodney glared at Carson, then John, then Carson, then John. He continued his double glaring-duties until he felt an oncoming headache.

"Right," Carson said gesturing to the two nurses that had accompanied him. "Get the scanner here."

Setting up the scanner somehow calmed Carson's ire at having to intervene when grown men acted like foolish children. Sweating under the heavy rubber suit, Carson raised a finger in Rodney's face. "If you move an inch, I will gut you with a spoon."

Rodney, lying on his bed still holding his hands over his mouth, nodded forcefully.

"A spoon," Carson threatened before giving Nurse Shanks the signal to start.

The scanner did its duty and all waited in silence. "There," Nurse Flanigan said, pointing to a small, round abnormality.

It was seven hours later, when Rodney was sleeping his remission from surgery away, that Elizabeth finally heard the story from John. Teyla and Ronon had joined their team-leader sometime between the discovery of the abnormality and its identification as what remained of Not-Sheppard. They had all sat together, Elizabeth joining them in the first hour of surgery, in a confused and worried silence.

"I don't know how it ended up in his body."

"How did it end up in Atlantis?" Elizabeth asked, truly puzzled, not yet considering the thought that her paranoid Head of Science would knowingly conceal an alien life-form on his person.

"I don't know," John answered, hoping to hell that his "honest, mom, it wasn't me" face would fool his boss just this once.

It was not to be. Elizabeth tilted her head and stared John down.

"Alright, he brought it in."

She sighed deeply.

"I believe Doctor McKay had grown attached to it," Teyla said, ever-so-loyally.

"Yeah – he's been missing his cat something fierce lately," John added to the layer of justification, "and you know how he gets."

"He's a weird, smart guy," Ronon concluded in what had to be the least impressive argument.

Elizabeth let her eyes rest on the slumbering man. He looked lonely on his white-sheeted bed, with only the IVs and monitors for company. Still, she would not allow the view to soften her. "I won't excuse him; this can't happen again, and once he's better he'll have to explain himself to my satisfaction. And so will you, John. You both know better than this."

"'Course we do," John said, penitently.

"Right. You will be off the duty-roster until Rodney's better. John, I will expect your back-paperwork by Thursday. And I will also expect preliminary performance evaluations."

"But they're not due until –" John looked into the steel of Doctor Elizabeth Weir's eyes and relented. "Sure," he agreed with his most charming smile, "it'll be on your desk by Thursday."

"Perfect," she said, smiling pleasantly. "Good night."

A chorus of goodnights accompanied her out the door.

Ronon gave John's shoulder a camaraderie slap and offered his good-nights. Teyla adjusted Rodney's blanket. "Sleep well," she whispered to the sleeping man. "Sleep well, John. I assume you will be in your office tomorrow?"

"Yeah," John sighed.

"Then Ronon and I will come when it is near lunchtime and we can visit with Rodney together."

"Alright."

"Good night."

"Good night, Teyla."

John took the few steps that separated him from Rodney's bed. He looked down at his friend and sighed once more. "You owe me. You owe me so big. Preliminary performance evaluations, did you hear her?!"

Rodney snorted in his sleep.

"Yeah, okay. Good night."

In his office, Carson put the test tube that held the glowy bug away. They had all agreed that they would tell Rodney Not-Sheppard had been sent back to his planet, but Carson had not the heart to just flush the little guy, as he had done with so many goldfishes. He just hoped this death would not come back to haunt them.

(It did. Four years and eight months later, the sister of the glowy bug they had known as Not-Sheppard but whose name had been Ghaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeee borrowed Major Lorne's body and gave it a near-fatal craving for potatoes. Lorne had eaten forty-nine pounds of raw tubers by the time the jumper he had stolen was found. Carson said he had been lucky he had vomited most of those pounds. Sheppard was surprised potato-vomit smelled so disgusting, but he kept the thought to himself because the voice in his brain ordered he stop being a jackass.)

**And in**** The End**** the ****love you take is equal to the love you make – or so sang The Beatles. **

A/N: Sincere apologies and effusive thanks to you who made it to this point! I know it's been way too long and I assure you it's the last time I say "Oh yeah, I'll post, no worries, I'll have it finished in no time." How mistaken one can be!


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